Kiss Me, Castle
by Cora Clavia
Summary: Of course Richard Castle can't just walk into the precinct like a normal human. 2x1, Deep In Death.
1. 1x06, Always Buy Retail

**Kiss Me, Castle**

**Summary:** Those times they could have kissed but didn't. Caskett.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own _Castle _or its characters, and this is created just for fun, not for profit.

There was once a _Bones_ story called "The Kiss That Missed," by ForAReason, which was adorable and took all those ALMOST!Kiss moments and actually made them happen. And it was just so much fun, I couldn't resist trying it. So yep: alternate scene endings from various episodes.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: 1x06, Always Buy Retail<strong>

_My first gun battle - _

_- Your last gun battle. -_

It drives her nuts that he doesn't seem to care that they almost just died. Nope. He's leaning against the wall, sipping champagne, looking rumpled and confident and (she'll _never_ tell him this) so utterly sexy. Seriously. The adrenaline is still swirling through her bloodstream, her mind whirling, and she's having trouble not looking at the way his shirt is unbuttoned right now because he looks _delicious_.

"I'd say I handled myself pretty well."

"Yeah. You probably saved my life." He's right. She won't grudge that.

" 'Probably?' I _definitely_ saved your life. And you know what that means, don't you?" He's coming closer. He's getting dangerous. "It means you owe me."

_Dream on, playboy_. "Owe you what?"

"Whatever I want. And you know _exactly_ what I want, don't you?" That makes her flush a little because she starts thinking of lips and tongues and groping hands and bare skin and it scares her how good it all sounds so fast. And he's invading her space, tall, strong, possessive, like he knows what she's thinking.

She's staring at his mouth because she wants it on hers. Right now.

"You know what it is I really, really want you to do – "

His voice trails off and she's not even trying to look away from his mouth right now. Oh God – he's not – is he? – oh – his glance flicks down to her lips, and yeah. She knows what he wants. His face is _right there_ and his breath is hot on her skin, and her lips part without her realizing it, and all she can think is _he's going to be a really good kisser.._.

"Never – _ever_ – call me 'Kitten.'"

He straightens, a smug grin crossing that absurdly handsome face, and strides past her, the undisputed winner of this round.

Kate bites her lip, smiling to herself as she leans against the wall, her blood singing. _Castle_. Only Castle.

And something inside her snaps.

Because Kate Beckett never, _ever_ lets a self-satisfied ladies' man get the last word.

"Castle," she calls, not giving herself a chance to back out.

He turns, half-out the door, eyebrows raised, still looking pleased with himself. "Hmm?"

She takes two steps, grabs the lapel of his jacket, yanks him to herself, and kisses him full on the mouth.

He's tense from the shock, but it only takes a moment before he responds, kissing her back, and her fingertips are buzzing, her skin electric because his mouth is so warm and she can taste champagne on his lips.

She pulls away, forcing herself to let go, and opens her eyes to find Rick Castle staring at her with a look of utter confusion. He looks stunned and boyish and dazed and he's watching her, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open and she just wants to grab his jacket again and see just how much he really does taste like champagne.

He swallows, blinking at her nervously, and it's all she can do to not kiss away that boyish pout.

"Beckett?"

The glass in his hand is faltering, and she rescues it quickly, her fingers brushing his as she catches it. "Didn't take you for such a dainty flower."

He just blinks again, and she smirks, because Castle is impossibly cute when he's speechless.

He manages to recover the glass, still gaping at her. She's enjoying the power. And that little hint of something darker in his eyes – something hot, something dangerous and intoxicating and irresistible – she doesn't want to look away.

"Meet you outside, Castle."

She's half out the door when she hears him say, "Kate?"

_Kate_.

Something flutters in her chest, but she just pauses. "Yeah?"

"We're even."


	2. 1x05, A Chill Goes Through Her Veins

So…I rarely do stuff in a logical order anyway. And since these are stand-alone shots anyway, they're basically just going to be written in what order I think of them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: 1x05, A Chill Goes Through Her Veins<strong>

_It was my mother. Not my father._

"We were supposed to go to dinner together."

He can't breathe. Never will again.

"There was a detective waiting for us."

The pain kills him. It's deep, it's muted, but it's there.

"They found her body. She had been stabbed."

She's giving him a calm recounting, what writers call the "police report:" it's spare and devoid of editorialization, but his author's imagination fills in every gap in agonizing detail. He can see it, clear as he sees her now. He can see young Kate waiting impatiently with her father, arms folded, pretty face screwed up in mild irritation because she's hungry. The thread of worry as they head home, wondering what happened. And he feels the punch in the gut as they see the officer at their front door, hat in hand, face heavy with the news he's about to give them. That sick, horrible eternity between realizing what's happened and hearing it out loud. She still carries it with her, every day. When she deserves so much more. So much happier.

He can see her blinking, trying not to let herself tear up in front of him, and the lump in his throat just won't go away because he's never seen her like this.

"The killer was never caught."

He can't help himself. He has to know. "Why do you wear the watch?"

It takes her a moment to answer, another clue that she's not over it. "My dad took her death hard. He's sober now. Five years."

The sad smile she gives him is heartbreaking. He finds himself smiling back but he has the irrational desire to cry for these people he's never met.

"So this is for the life that I saved – " and she pulls a chain out from under her shirt, holding up a ring – "and – this – is for the life that I lost."

Her grief is soft now, gentle, more a lingering sadness, but he reads the hours she cried, the depression that swamped her like a heavy black wave, the terrible jagged hole in her heart that took years to let her breathe. And he aches for her. Because Kate Beckett deserves better.

She tries to shake it off with a flippant comment about Nikki Heat, but though he responds in kind, his mind is still lost in a maze of images and ideas and pain and he's a thousand miles away as she gathers her things and prepares to leave for the night.

It takes him a few seconds to realize she's walking to the elevator, and he scrambles to his feet to hurry after her.

"Was wondering if you were going to stay here all night," she says archly, holding the elevator door till he's beside her, then pressing the button for the doors to close.

"Uh – no. Sorry."

The elevator rumbles and creaks to life – he has always had the vaguely nagging fear that someday he's going to get stuck in this old machine – and as it goes down, Castle sneaks a glance at Kate. She's staring at the floor, lost in thought, arms folded over her chest.

"Thank you." Her eyes flick up to his, a silent question. "For trusting me. For – telling me."

Her lips curve into a soft smile. And in spite of the voice in his mind hissing _Shut up, Rick, you're just fumbling right now_, he can't keep his mouth shut. Because words are incomplete but he needs to try. "And I know – I know you've heard it and it's trite and it doesn't fix anything but – I'm sorry."

But even though it's the most useless phrase he could have uttered – _really, Rick? Her mother was murdered ten years ago and that's what you're going to go with?_ – she doesn't say anything, just keeps looking down.

It takes him a second to realize she's biting her lip, her eyes shut. Her breathing is shallower, like there's a hitch she can't get rid of. He sees the soft flutter of eyelashes, like she's blinking rapidly.

His stomach twists, because it had never occurred to him that Kate Beckett cries.

He aches to soothe, to comfort, to fix, but this enigmatic, dazzling woman is too much of a mystery to sling an arm around her shoulder and call it a win.

"Beckett – "

She doesn't react, doesn't move, just keeps looking down, her arms folded over her chest as if she can keep everything tucked in neatly, wipe this away as the fluke result of being tired after a long day, forget it happened, but Castle knows that can't happen, because her words are seared into his mind permanently and he will never, ever forget the sad, helpless look on her face that he never, ever, _ever_ wants to see again.

He swallows. "Kate – "

That catches her attention. She finally looks up at him, and his breath stops. Her eyes are glittering, heavy with unshed tears, girlish and soft and vulnerable. Ten years is a long time. Enough for far too much hurt for one person.

And talking has proven to be an utter failure, so he goes with the only thing he could possibly do that would be dumber. He kisses her.

It's very soft, very delicate, almost chaste, just his lips on hers, his hand just barely brushing the edge of her jaw. Her mouth is soft, receptive, warm against his, and there's a warm glow spreading in his chest and it's so painfully perfect that he can't imagine _not_ kissing her now. He feels wetness against his skin, a tear she wasn't able to stop, and wipes it gently away with his thumb.

The ding of the elevator door startles him, and the kiss ends abruptly as he flinches. The doors slide open, and he looks back at Kate guiltily. But the look on her face – it's hard to read. It's not quite a smile, but it's not sad, and there's a mildness, a softer line to the mouth he's just kissed.

Kate Beckett is a mystery. He wonders if he'll ever figure her out.

His mouth is still warm from hers. And he wants to try.

She's the first one to move, stepping out of the elevator as he hurries to catch up. He's spent enough time with her to be accustomed to tagging along at her heels. It's his place and he likes it.

They reach the front doors, but before she goes outside, leaves him, she pauses in the doorway, turning back to him, eyes dark and mesmerizing.

And yet again, his mouth won't stop trying to fix things. "Until tomorrow, Detective."

"You can't just say 'Night?'"

No. He can't. "I'm a writer. 'Night' is boring. 'Until tomorrow' is more…hopeful."

Her mouth curves into a half-smile, a bit of the gravity lifting, her eyes lighter, and he relaxes because there's a faint pink blush on her cheeks but she isn't commenting on the audacity of him feeling hopeful when he's just kissed her for no reason other than he really, really needed to. Her fingers curl lightly around the doorframe for a moment as she thinks.

"Till tomorrow, Castle."

She's out the door and into the night before he can form a response, but somehow it doesn't bother him. Kate Beckett has a tendency to get the last word. He doesn't mind.

* * *

><p>That night, as Kate's washing her plate from dinner, there's a knock at her door. She opens it to find a delivery boy, who hands her a beautiful spray of soft pink-and-white orchids tied with a silver ribbon.<p>

She knows who sent them even before she finds the little white notecard on the ribbon's end.

_For you. Just because. - RC_


	3. 1x07, Home Is Where The Heart Stops

**Chapter 3: 1x07, Home Is Where The Heart Stops**

_Do you mind? I'm trying to concentrate._

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><p>Beckett's in a really, really bad mood. Castle has, so far, spent the day watching her jaw get more and more set. It's cute.<p>

The last straw comes when Mitchell alibis out and they can't shake it. She mutters something under her breath that suspiciously like the word his mother washed his mouth out with soap for saying when he was ten, but before he can say anything to her, she stalks out of the bullpen, leaving him to gape, because this is not something he's used to seeing from her.

Esposito tells him she's probably gone to blow off steam in the shooting range. The writer in him perks up. Shooting range? Good setting for a scene – the intimacy and warmth of the quiet togetherness, juxtaposed sharply with the mechanics of guns, spiced up with the element of danger. Perfect. Sexy.

He walks in to find her in a shooting stall, ear protectors and goggles in place, pistol in hand, blasting the daylights out of a target, and yeah. Maybe it's from watching Bond movies, maybe it's just intrinsic, but she's already hot when she's pissed off and she's even hotter with a gun.

And she's ripe for the irritating, so he bounds in cheerfully. He has her anger redirected at himself in record time (he's gotten really good at it recently). So she hands him the gun and tells him to try it himself.

He can't help but laugh. Beckett, who he is relatively sure has read all his books, apparently doesn't understand that learning to shoot was one of the first things he did when he started writing crime novels. Okay then.

And surprise surprise, she thinks he's an idiot. He's about to fix his stance and show her that he knows _exactly_ how to handle a gun (and a few other things), but then he feels her hands on him, impatient and disdainful and light and soft and if he'd known this was all it took to get Kate Beckett to press her body against his and feel him up (or that it would have sent this sort of tingle through his body), he'd have played a fool weeks ago. Teach me, Beckett. Teach me real good.

He's enjoying it far too much, particularly the way her chest brushes against his arm, when his finger tenses and the gun goes off, the bullet ricocheting and missing the target by a mile.

"Oops. Shot too soon." Not something he wants Kate thinking he does on a regular basis.

"Yeah, well, we could always just cuddle, Castle."

He is _delighted_, because she's smiling and teasing and flirty and coy and right here next to him in this tiny little cubicle and he's half tempted to set the gun down and proceed to demonstrate just how much patience he has with a beautiful woman – oh, does it sound like fun – but his ears perk up when she offers a deal.

He wants photos; so she says hit the target and you can have them.

Really?

Okay then.

Without a word, he squares back up, sights the silhouette, and sends all three rounds straight through the heart.

Mouth open in shock, she turns back to him, whipping off her ear guards and safety glasses, silently demanding an explanation. Castle just grins. She's even _hotter_ when she's flustered.

"You're a _very_ good teacher."

Her mouth twists in annoyance, and in the split second her body tenses up, Castle has the brief epiphany that maybe annoying her while she's busy shooting things was not his brightest idea today.

"You – you son of a bitch! What the hell is wrong with you?" she hisses, her eyes narrow, body poised and coiled like she's about to attack. Castle instinctively tries to step back, but the wall of the shooting cubicle blocks his progress. Not good.

"I – thought – it seemed therapeutic for you," he answers lamely, and really, could he be any stupider?

Of course she doesn't buy it for a second. "You creepy – perverted – _man!"_ She's gritting her teeth, unconsciously backing him into the wall, her glare like ice, and _wow_ is she hot right now but he doesn't think this is really the time to point it out.

"I just thought you were here to blow off some steam. Thought it might help."

She pokes one finger into his chest sharply. "Don't _ever_ try a stunt like that again."

He feigns innocence, eyes open wide, because he knows it drives her crazy. And for some reason, he's feeling particularly reckless right now. "Like what, Detective?"

"Playing dumb? Tricking me into feeling you up? I'm not stupid, Castle."

He ignores the death glare. "You weren't shy, either."

At that, her face tightens into the darkest scowl she's ever given him, and she plants her hands on his chest and shoves him back against the wall, where he hits with a startled _oof,_ and before he can put up his hands to protect himself, she's on him in a flash, her mouth on his, savage and rough and territorial.

She's ferocious and pissed off and hot and biting and _shit_ he likes it. Her fingers press hard into his chest and she's blocking his airway but then she slams his shoulders back harder against the wall and her tongue pushes his lips apart and sweeps a hot, wet path through his mouth and he's utterly lost. He lets out a helpless noise as she bites his upper lip, her tongue swiping over it roughly before letting it go, the sting warming under the heat of her angry mouth.

And then she's gone, and he blindly tries to follow her lips. Because _damn. _But her hand is flat against his chest, holding him back, keeping him at arm's length from the red mouth that just completely undid him till all he can think right now is _more_.

Satisfied he's staying put (for once), she leans in, her lips an inch away from his ear, and he swallows hard at the heat of her breath on his neck, the press of her chest against his, the heady scent coming off her skin. All he has to do is lean forward, just a bit – her throat is right there, so soft and pale and tempting and that is exactly where his lips need to be right now and he could just pull her closer and hook her leg around his thigh and slip his hands under that thin little shirt of hers and there's no one else down here and if she really _does_ need to blow off steam, all they have to do is –

He's in over his head.

Her lips brush his ear. This needs to happen more often. Like every day.

"If you _ever_ try to play that game again, Mr. Castle, I will be using you for target practice next time. And be aware that the head and the heart are not the only parts of your anatomy I can hit."

He's too incoherent for speech, so he mostly just blinks and stares as she steps back, shoots him a last look that's somewhere between _I hate you_ and _I'm going to pin you against that wall again_, grabs her gun, and saunters out without a backward glance.

The shooting range really _is_ a good place to blow off steam.

He needs to follow her here a lot more often.


	4. 1x02, Nanny McDead

This one is A.) blatantly gratuitous, B.) ridiculous, and C.) roughly 50% stolen from an adorable scene with Goren and Eames in an episode of CI. So you've been warned.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: 1x02, Nanny McDead<strong>

_Do I have to wait for him to sign, or can I shoot him now?_

Castle doesn't even have words to describe how happy he is that he and Beckett wear the same color shirt the first day he starts shadowing her. If that's not fate, he doesn't know what is.

* * *

><p>And he likes that they get to go to the park the next day. It's welcoming. Yet also unpredictable enough that he hopes something exciting might happen. Or maybe that she'll let him go on the monkey bars.<p>

She seems fascinated by his marital record. Interesting.

"Exactly how many times have you been married, Castle?"

"Twice."

"That's it?"

What was she expecting, a closet full of spare wives? "Isn't that enough?" But now, back to his favorite new pastime: prying into her personal life. "How about you?"

"Me? No. Never been."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"You'd be good at it. You're both controlling _and_ disapproving. You should really try it." On the other hand, he's willing to bet Mr. Kate Beckett is going to be a very, very happy man on the wedding night when the bathroom door opens and she steps out in sexy black lingerie, all smokey eyes and teasing lips and silky skin and those long legs and black lace that barely covers –

Whoa. Down, boy. He already asked her out. She already said 'no.'

They pause as they reach the metal fence near the play area so she can scan the crowd and he can scan her. "I'm not an if-at-first-you-don't-succeed kind of a girl, Castle. When it comes to marriage, I'm more of a one-and-done type."

God, she is cute. And hot. And trying really hard not to let him get to her.

So he fixes her with a too-intimate gaze that can't possibly be construed as anything but interest, because he's noticed it makes her uncomfortable and for some reason he's really, really enjoying it.

"Any serious candidates?"

She glances back at him, and he watches, delighted, as her cheeks flush a little and her mouth opens but nothing comes out. She is adorable when she's flustered.

But she covers it by looking back at the playground, scanning. "There's no one in a red vest. Do you think she's here?"

"Not a clue." He's still staring at her, because police legwork is her thing anyway. He's having lots of fun staring at her until she blushes. This might become his new favorite pastime.

She bites her lip (he _loves_ when she does that) and lets out a frustrated breath. "I can't tell. Maybe someone around here knows who she is. We could ask the other nannies or moms."

"Ooh, not such a safe idea. Do you know how overbearingly protective Park Avenue mothers are? You can't just stroll in and start asking questions. They'll clam up."

He's mostly making this up – there are some _very_ pushy mothers, but a female cop with a proper badge wouldn't make them nearly as nervous as he's pretending it would – but Beckett didn't grow up on Park Avenue and it actually seems like she believes him.

(Besides, didn't she say cops are allowed to lie? He's just trying to more closely imitate his muse.)

She lets out a sigh, shoving her hands in her pockets. "What do you suggest then, Sherlock?"

He puts on his most effective innocent expression, because he watched an episode of _Law & Order_ once where the detectives were at a playground so yes, he has an idea and he wants to see if it really works.

* * *

><p>She grudgingly admits that his idea might work.<p>

So they find a prime example of Park Avenue Mom sitting on a bench and head over. "Excuse me, are these seats taken?"

She looks up, but smiles. "Not at all." Fake blonde hair, tastefully understated Burberry coat, khakis, Prada scarf. Yep. "I don't think I've seen you here before. Are you new?"

"Just moved here from Chicago. I'm Richard, this is Katie."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Evelyn." She fishes a tube of lip balm out of a purse that costs more than the GDP of small nations. "This is a wonderful park, by the way. Great place to bring kids."

Castle's happy they're finally doing real undercover work – though he'd be happier if there were wires and costumes and maybe fake noses involved – but he decides they need to look more like a couple. He reaches for Beckett's hand. She bats his hand away and shoots him a glare. OK. Maybe not. He settles for sliding it subtly on her knee before she can stop him. She immediately presses hers on top of it. It's not a gesture of affection. She's making sure it doesn't start wandering.

OK, so that plan won't work.

"Which one is yours?" beams Ballet/French/Viola/Art Class Mom.

Castle flashes her his warmest please-buy-my-books smile. "Little boy over there by the monkey bars – " there are about a dozen kids by the monkey bars – "he just turned four. Just started violin and beginning French class, too. Gonna be just as smart as his mother."

He squeezes her knee and beams at her, earning her fingernails digging into his hand, and he hides the grin, because Beckett is _so uncomfortable_ right now but it's just too much fun and besides, it serves her right for trying to ditch him with the police legal rep yesterday. Even though he knows she's going to maim him for this later.

"Oh, that's so wonderful. My little twins are over there, Autumn and Lace." She points at two identical little pasty brown-haired girls in tiny designer jackets.

"They're very cute," Beckett offers. First time she's spoken up since he turned her into the third Mrs. Castle. At least it's not a death threat.

"They sure are." More. She _hates_ him right now. "I keep telling Katie, I'd love for us to have a little girl. Someone I can really spoil. And we're definitely trying for one." He waggles his eyebrows, feeling Beckett's nails pierce his skin again. She is going to torture, then kill him.

Mother Park Avenue smiles sagely. "Well, I'm sure you'll get one. And I have to say, you've kept your figure incredibly well, Katie. What's your secret?"

Beckett gives her a tight smile. "Lot of working out."

Castle chuckles and manages to slip an arm around her shoulders before she can stop him. "My Katie is a real beauty, isn't she?"

He looks back at the playground, swarming with enough kids that he doesn't have to pretend any particular one is theirs. "Derrick! Derrick, play nice with the other kids!"

Beckett flashes him a look which is close enough to loving to satisfy Mrs. Khakis 'N' Pearls but which he can already tell means _You named our fictional child after you own damn character, you asshole?_

Ah. There's the reaction he wants: barely-bridled hatred. It's adorable. He wonders how far he can push her before she snaps and shoots him.

So he forces his fingers through hers, till their palms are laced together and she's glaring at him again and she really needs to calm down because really, they're just holding hands. It's not like he's trying to convince her to actually start _making_ Derrick Batman Castle with him, after all. (The name is not negotiable.)

Not that he wouldn't be open to the idea. She's hot. And she's smart, and funny, and the way she bites her lip, and the line of her throat, just begging for him to –

Right. Case. Work. Information. And making sure she doesn't rip his hand off. She's trying to. He can feel her fingers moving. Think again, Beckett. His other arm is still around her shoulder. She's tense. She doesn't like it. "You know, Katie and I have been thinking about getting a part-time nanny for Derrick. Do you know where to look? We thought maybe we could talk to families who've had luck finding good ones."

Mrs. Burberry is happy to oblige, and within minutes they've asked about Chloe. Apparently she's a wonderful nanny, good with little Becca, and she's not looking for work right now but she knows several other young women who might be available.

"It's a little early, but she'll probably be out in a few minutes. I'm sure you can talk to her then."

"Great. Thanks." Beckett's finally managed to pry his fingers out from hers, and is now trying to get his hand off her shoulder.

"Of course. I tell you, they are such a godsend. My husband and I have a nanny who comes in a few days a week. It's just given us so much more time to be together."

"Exactly! That's what I've been telling Katie." Castle beams at Beckett, whose tight smile in response tells him she is already trying to decide where to dump his body. He ignores it, leans in to kiss her cheek lightly, feeling her tense immediately. "I want to be able to take time to really focus on her."

Beckett looks up at him with a look that tells him she's now decided where to dump his body. And since her face is _right there_ and he's unreasonably attracted to her and he's going to die anyway, he figures _what the hell?_ and pulls her closer to kiss her lightly on the lips.

She freezes, but it's over so quickly she can't do anything to stop him. He turns back to Mrs. Richie Rich, who's beaming at what she obviously thinks is an outburst of husbandly love, not a gamble on his life with a woman who's armed. "That's so sweet. How long have you two been married?"

"Sixr years in May."

"Adorable. And your son is a darling." Castle has to hide a smile, because she obviously has no idea which kid is Derrick Batman. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to get Autumn and Lace off to their harp lessons." Mrs. Fifth Avenue Cardigan smiles, clutching her purse. "Best of luck to both of you!"

"Thanks so much!" Castle waves, finally taking his arm off Beckett's shoulders.

As the woman leaves, Castle takes a deep breath, and sure enough, he feels Beckett's fingernails digging into his arm even through his wool coat. Um, yeah. She's not happy.

Kissing her might not have been the best choice.

She silently drags him away from the playground, back to the sidewalk, and she she lets him go, turning to face him. Her face is like ice. She is _pissed._

And it's not like she's going to let him live anyway, so he goes for lighthearted. "Was it good for you? Because it was good for me."

Before he realizes what she's doing, she slaps him, her hand hitting his cheek with just enough force to actually hurt. He yelps, grabs his cheek. "Owwww! Beckett! What was that for?"

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" she hisses at him, eyes shooting sparks. Maybe they won't be making Derrick anytime soon. "That was _completely_ over the line!"

"Calm down, Detective. It was just a little kiss." No tongue, either, which is too bad. She has a pretty mouth. And he thinks she probably has a nice tongue. So it's really only like half a kiss anyway.

She grits her teeth. "You can _not_ just kiss me in public for no reason, Castle!"

"We were supposed to be a couple! It was acting!" She sighs, and he can't resist. "Or maybe you're worried. Maybe you enjoyed it too much."

She huffs out a laugh, clipped and short. "In your dreams, Castle."

"Don't fight the feeling."

"Shut up."

"Just because you liked it – "

"Shut _up_."

"It's okay to say you liked it."

He sees her eyes narrow, and before he can respond to it she grabs his scarf, yanks him closer, pulls her face to his and kisses him soundly.

A muffled noise of shock escapes him (because what the _hell?_) but she's adamant, one hand on his neck holding him there. And then her tongue is in his mouth, warm and wet and she tastes like coffee and hotness and anger and _good_. She nips at his bottom lip and he groans. Shit.

Her tongue presses into his one last time before she pushes him back. He actually stumbles a little. Falls back on his heels. Like a hopeless teenager. And immediately needs her tongue in his mouth again. Right now.

"I _said_ shut up, Castle."

With that she turns back to the playground. He stares. Did she – did that –

"Red vest. That might be our girl."

Beckett goes to follow the nanny who's just come into view, leaving Castle to stare after her for the moment it takes his brain to start functioning again.

Kate Beckett can shut him up anytime she wants.

And he was right. She does have a nice tongue.


	5. 1x08, Ghosts

This chapter was probably one of the easiest to plan. And is probably exactly what you're thinking it'll be, a sexy companion to the three poker scenes. I am just that predictable. And as always, the whole thing is just my idiot self-indulgence of whining _why aren't they being sexy now_? and then making them be sexy because I can.

Quick logistical note: for my purposes, in the first two poker scenes, Castle and Beckett are sitting next to each other. Because they should have been. Seriously.

And a zillion thanks to the inestimable **cartographical** for being a wonderful editor on this chapter. Cheers, Carto!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: 1x08: Ghosts<strong>

_You're not afraid of a little…action, are you?_

Poker night, Castle's place. Kate has to hand it to him: the man plays host well.

It's been fun, but it's winding down. Everyone else folds, and it's just them.

"What's the matter? You're not afraid of a little _action_, are you?"

Oh, damn you, Castle. With that devilish look and that filthy imagination she knows he has. She knows what he's thinking about.

She very carefully toes off a shoe. This could either work very well or be really, really awkward.

"All in."

Timing is everything. She waits until everyone is laughing, and while everyone's chuckling, she leans over and ever-so-casually brushes her foot against the inside of his ankle.

She has to give him credit. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move. There's only a slight, sharp intake of breath that gives him away, and she's pretty sure no one else notices it. He flashes her a quick glance, but she schools her face into perfect nonchalance. Give him nothing. Let him be the one who can't handle it.

He swallows and looks back down at his cards. Kate lets herself smile a little. So Mr. Steals-A-Police-Horse-Naked gets nervous over a little game of footsie, huh? So much for the dashing, daredevil playboy.

She flicks a glance down at her cards and suppresses the urge to make a face. Blah. Nothing. She's got nothing. And Castle's poker face is good, but she's relatively sure he's got at least a decent hand.

This calls for desperate measures.

So she manages to slip off her sock too, scootches just an inch in her chair to give herself better reach, and slips her bare foot under the hem of his pant leg to trail lazily over his bare skin.

_That_ gets his attention. His hands actually falter a little, and she can tell Martha's watching him curiously, and this is perfect, because his poker face is slipping.

He glances at his cards, looks back up at her…

…and folds.

The boys crow with delight. She grins. "Maybe someone should change their middle name to _loser_," she laughs, raking in her winnings. Nice try, Castle. Try thinking with your brain next time.

His eyes are on her, and it's not just you-beat-me-at-poker. There's something a little darker in his gaze. And for a second she wonders if maybe she went too far.

But his mouth twists into a look that says _You just wait_. And her skin gets warm thinking about all the ways he could make her pay. Because he's a bad boy. And she's always had a thing for the bad boys.

And then her phone rings, and just like that, they have a case.

* * *

><p>"You might want to think up some chips for the pot. 'Cause it looks like it's just you and me."<p>

The guys whistle at that, but she's wrong. Because if it were really just them, they wouldn't be playing cards. And maybe this table would be put to a very different use. Because he can't explain exactly what it is, but he's into her. He's really into her. Maybe because he can't quite figure her out. Or maybe because she turned him down flat and he's not used to that. Or maybe because she's way just too good to even give him the time of day and he likes challenges. And gorgeous women. And mysteries. And she fits all those categories.

She's doing well tonight. Her poker face is good, but since he spends every minute of every day watching her more closely than is strictly necessary for 'character research' (Pffft. Like he's fooling anyone.), he can see the very slight twitch of her mouth, the minute widening of her eyes. She's got something, he's almost sure. Question is, how good is her hand?

But he remembers the dirty trick she pulled last time they played cards here. He remembered it a lot the next time he went to bed. She's an evil woman when she wants to be.

Payback's a bitch, Beckett.

He very slowly, very subtly drops his hand below the table's edge and carefully brushes her thigh.

Her throat bobs as she swallows unsteadily. He watches, intrigued, as her chest rises in a quick breath. She's steadfastly not looking at him, but the blush that spreads over her cheeks tells him she's not entirely unaffected.

He slides his hand just a bit north, a little closer to danger, a little further than he should, and feels the tension as her thigh muscles contract under his hand, her legs pressing together slightly. His throat constricts. Oh. She's – _oh_.

Castle suddenly realizes he's half-seriously considering seeing if he can get her off in front of her boss and a judge and the mayor and that's not exactly what he'd planned this evening. He's worried that maybe he went too far and she's going to file a sexual harassment claim or a restraining order or just arrest him or shoot him or worse, not let him follow her anymore –

- but then her eyes sweep up to meet his, and he feels his blood heat up. Her eyes are heavy, dark with hotness and danger and something that makes his mouth go dry. Her gaze flicks down, her eyes fixated on his mouth, her lips parted slightly. And then she looks back up at him. And she bites her lip.

He can see her tongue pressed against her teeth, and his hand on her leg twitches, because she is absolutely doing this on purpose and her breathing has gotten a little shallow and she's got those unexpected bedroom eyes and now he's thinking about exactly what he wants her to do to him and who the hell _is_ this woman and what did she do with Kate Beckett?

She turns away, back to the table and the other cardplayers, who are oblivious. And he hears it as clearly as if she'd said it aloud:

_I dare you_.

"All right, Detective Beckett. I'm all in." And oh, is he ever.

And she doesn't push his hand away.

That's the only reason he's still confident enough to tease her. "What's the matter, you afraid of a little action?"

The other players are laughing, but the smile that curls over her face can only be described as wicked. And he has a feeling she knows exactly what kind of action he's interested in.

Markaway laughs. "Do us a favor, Detective. Beat his pants off."

Exactly. "Yes, please. Beat my pants off if you dare." And then he can take _her_ pants off, and then –

"Beckett, do me proud."

"To hell with proud, make him cry like a little girl!"

He's pulled his hand away from her leg, because the other guys aren't blind and they'd eventually start to wonder why he's trying to sexually harass her into folding. But then he feels her knee nudge his. And she looks up at him, and his breath catches –

She sets her cards facedown. "Sorry, fellas. Just not my night."

He likes winning. But as he rakes in the pot, he feels her hand brush ever-so-lightly over his leg before she stands, and he likes that even better.

He was going to ask her to stay for a drink, maybe revisit the idea of his hands on her and end up in his room where he can find new places to put them, but she leaves with the rest of the players, shooting him a last dark glance, and if she starts using these bedroom eyes on a regular basis, he will not be responsible for what he does.

* * *

><p>He hands over her winnings, and she tries to deny it, but it's futile and she knows it. Castle knows her too well. She knows he probably feels faintly guilty about taking her money in the first place – not that she's destitute, but the man <em>is<em> a millionaire, more times over than she knows – so she lets him hand it back. "All right. I was trying to be nice. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends." He'd done the same for her.

"Now we're even."

But he's got that look in his eyes, the one she's learned to both distrust and enjoy, because he's entirely too good at pushing her buttons and he apparently has no qualms about undressing her with his eyes while he does it.

And she hasn't forgotten the way he turned the tables on her the other evening.

And sure enough, he's not done. "So what do you say to a little…showdown? Head to head. Toe to toe." And of course he's got a deck of cards ready. "Winner take all. _Mano a mujer_."

So he doesn't speak Spanish. Eh. She pauses, her brow furrowing as she retrieves her somewhat limited Spanish vocabulary. "'Hand to woman?'"

"Whatever it takes."

That makes her a little flush, and in spite of her better judgment, heat blossoms in her skin. Because _she's_ a woman and she thinks about his hands on her (again) and maybe less clothing between them and –

Oh, no you don't. Rick Castle is _not_ going to get the better of her with that sexy, I'm-a-bad-boy, devilish smirk of his. She leans forward, her eyes narrowing. "You're on."

"No mercy."

Oh, don't have mercy on me, Castle. Be rough. "I'm gonna make you hurt."

"Oh, you're gonna _get_ hurt."

That smirk on his face is just about the hottest thing she's ever seen, and they're both leaning in so close, she can feel the heat of his breath, skimming over her face like a dare, like a tease, like a taunt singing _what are you going to do about it?_

"What are we playing for?"

"Pride." He gives her a blatant up-and-down look. "Or clothing."

The second one has its appeal, and it probably shouldn't because she's not even tipsy so there's no excuse, but who cares? "I think I've got a bag of gummibears."

"Shuffle?"

"Deal."

She snags the cards he holds up. Bring it, Castle.

* * *

><p>They're halfway through Texas-hold-'em (it's the most non-sexual game of cards they've played in the past week, which she finds disturbingly disappointing) when he pauses, eyeing her like he's trying to decide what she tastes like and whether or not he wants it on his tongue. "Is the coffeemaker still on?"<p>

This is a police station, so it's never off. "Coffee? This late?" She twitches an eyebrow.

"I thought you'd be keeping me up all night, Detective." He's smirking at her, eyes dancing wickedly, and she feels a soft blush creeping over her cheeks.

"Did you, now?"

"Oh yeah. I _really _like playing with you."

There's no mistaking the tone in his voice, or the way his eyes have gotten darker, and she swallows because she feels almost lightheaded and yeah. She needs to breathe. Right now.

Kate retreats hastily to the break room and stares at the coffeemaker. Because this is crazy. Because she has no idea what's happening. Because okay, yeah, so they've been feeling each other up during poker but he's a wealthy playboy and she's not his type and he's done nothing but leer at her since the first day they met but it's different now and the way he's been _looking _at her she knows that he wants to do things to her, wants her to do things to him, and she thinks she wants it too and it's late and she's tired and her guard is down and seriously, what the _hell?_

She hears footsteps, hears the door open and shut behind her, and only has time to take a deep breath before she feels him stepping behind her.

And then his hands are on her waist, thumbs slipping under her shirt to caress her sides, and his lips are on her throat, sucking lightly on her skin, the line of her neck.

"C – _Castle_ – " she manages to gasp out, but nothing else makes it through her mind, anything like _we shouldn't be doing this_ or _this is a bad idea_ or _let's just go back to your place right now_.

His breath is hot on her neck, his voice low and rough and sending shivers down her spine. "God – you are driving me _crazy_ – "

She tries to reply, but then his tongue hits the spot behind her ear and she bites back a moan, her hands clutching the counter desperately. He gets bolder, one hand sliding inside her shirt, spreading over her stomach, fingertips pressing hotly into her skin. She sighs in pleasure as he bites at her earlobe, his tongue soothing the sting away, and this is just all kinds of a bad idea but she doesn't _care_.

He steps back for a second, and she manages to take a breath, and then his hands are on her again and he's turning her around and shoving her back till her hips hit the counter and he's kissing her so thoroughly she can't breathe, can't think. He pins her against the counter and his tongue traces her lips, slips into her mouth, hot and wet and aggressive and curling over her teeth and catching the little gasp that she can't stop. She twines her arms around his neck, her chest pressing flush against his, and his lower body drives harder into hers, sending a low growl through his chest that vibrates against her, and her skin is buzzing and her blood is fizzing uncontrollably and holy _shit_.

His knee slides between her legs and a groan tugs through her chest, rocking her body, and then he hits _just_ the right spot against her. Her knees falter and her mouth opens and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue in further, swirling over hers. Her back arches in spite of herself, and his hands slide down to her backside, gripping her hips, pulling her more roughly into him. She rocks blindly against his leg, a low moan finally escaping her throat as his tongue does this incredibly dirty trick and she clutches weakly at his shoulders, her hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket and if something doesn't change soon, either she's going home with him or he's just going to lock the door and push her up onto the counter and –

"Hey guys, I – oh. Oh God."

She freezes, because Kevin Ryan is standing in the doorway staring, saucer-eyed and slack-jawed, and he just walked in to find her sucking face with Richard Castle and why the _hell_ did they do this at the precinct where it could have been _anyone_ –

Castle seems to wake up first, letting go of her, stepping back, still breathing hard as she slumps back against the cabinets. Her knees still aren't doing so well.

"Ryan – it – we weren't – " She's having trouble putting together a sentence, but it's not like he would believe her anyway. We weren't what? Weren't playing tonsil hockey just now? Weren't groping each other during poker all week? Weren't having eyesex in front of everyone? Weren't flirting since the first day we met?

Castle's pulling himself together. Though she knows how excited he just got. Knows _exactly_ how excited he just got. He looks up at Ryan with an uncomfortable expression. "Maybe you could just keep this a secret?"

"I – right. I didn't see anything."

Ryan does an awkward about-face and leaves, his eyes still looking a little glazed.

She briefly closes her eyes (_shit_) and steals a glance at Castle, who looks like he's not sure what to do.

"Kate – "

He looks as freaked out as she feels. Because _what_ just happened?

She runs a hand through her hair (he tousled it quite a bit and there's no way she's walking out of this room looking like Rick Castle just pushed her up against the counter and – _shit_, because he really did all of it and she _let_ him and now it looks like he just did her up against the wall) and takes in a breath before she answers. "I don't know what to say."

He doesn't reply, and as she looks up to see him watching her, Kate feels a giddy rush of pleasure. He's watching her with that hungry look on his face. Like he knows exactly how she tastes and he plans on tasting it again. More.

So she takes a step closer, puts a hand on his shoulder, and stretches up to place a delicate kiss on the corner of his mouth. It's soft and warm and drugging and for a second she just wants to turn her head and capture his mouth for real and maybe push him back into the break room and maybe finish what they started there in the first place.

But she just lets him go.

"Good night, Castle."

She leaves with one last smoldering glance. He doesn't move. She walks out with an idiot smile on her face.

_I'm all in, Castle._


	6. 1x04, Hell Hath No Fury

I know the pink dress tips towards yuck for a lot of people. But let's focus on the positive aspects here, people. Namely, the fact that it was like indecently short and Beckett's legs are like ten miles high and in those awesome shoes, she kicked ass. Yeah. That made it okay.

Thanks again to cartographical for creating what would be a much more accurate title for this little series: "Sucking Face Fic." Because yeah. That's basically all it is.

And yeah. I don't even know what happened here. Just – yeah.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: 1x04, Hell Hath No Fury<strong>

_That was quite some reading. Very…moving._

He looks up and oh. Oh. Wow.

It's Kate Beckett, but she's wearing a dress that seems to have been made for someone a foot shorter than her because it's just so damn _short_ and her legs. God. Her legs just don't stop, and he's never seen her wear a dress, and seriously, he knew she was pretty, but _damn_.

He can barely drag his eyes up to meet hers, but finally manages. And she's laughing at him. _Laughing_ at him. Wearing a dress that barely covers –

Castle stumbles through the last line of the book, feeling considerably less badass than he did when he started. And he sort of hears the applause of the sniffling women in the audience, but he's only got eyes for the woman who's barely clapping, like she can't really be bothered.

He wants to bother her. He wants to bother her a lot.

Everything is fine until his mother lets slip the name 'Nikki Heat.' It doesn't even bother him that it's not yet been officially released and they're in public. The problem is that _Beckett_ hasn't heard it. And from the look on her face as she pulls him aside…yeah, he pretty much expected this reaction.

"What kind of a name is Nikki Heat?"

"It's a cop name." A really sexy cop name.

"It's a stripper name."

He doesn't see what the problem is here. "Well, I told you she was kind of slutty."

_That_ doesn't help, and she glares her fiercest (though the effectiveness is somewhat diminished by the shortness of that microscopic pink skirt) and orders him to change the name. He scoffs. Black Pawn loves the name and it's not going to change. Besides, the mayor's on his side. She's fresh out of luck.

After stalking after him in circles, she finally gets impatient and bats the cardboard cutout of himself out of his hands. He tries to walk away, but she grabs his elbow. "Oh, we are _not_ finished here, Castle."

"You are really freakishly strong, you know that?" he mutters, unable to shake off her iron grasp as she drags him further back in the store, toward the door marked _Employees Only_. Huh. So much for Kate Beckett never breaking rules. Put a woman in a short skirt and she thinks she owns the place.

She pushes him in and shuts the door firmly behind them, folding her arms and resuming her (adorable) glare. "Castle. You cannot name a character based on a _real_ person from the NYPD like she's a call girl. You need to at least respect the badge."

"You know I respect it, Detective. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't." He gets another idea. "Ooooooh. Just think. _Body Heat._"

"Castle! Focus!" Her brow is getting more and more furrowed and he knows he should pay attention but he can't help that she's impossibly pretty right now and her legs are just impossibly perfect and he'd try to touch them if he didn't think it'd get him killed.

"Look, Beckett. Relax. The character's nothing to be ashamed of. What does it matter what her name is?"

"It matters! Everyone who reads it is going to think I slept my way to detective! Do you know how hard I have to work to earn respect in my job?"

"Probably harder than you'd have to if you weren't wearing a tiny little pink dress," he points out helpfully. "Seriously. Was it made that short, or did you just cut a foot off the bottom? I mean, I'm not complaining."

Her scowl darkens. "Quit staring at me."

"Please. Admit it. You _like_ it when I stare at you."

"Oh, like hell, Castle."

"Then why'd you pick this dress?" he shoots back. He feels pretty sure about this point. "I just saw you at the precinct. Which means you rushed home, changed, and came straight here. When you could have just come here in work clothes. Which means you _wanted_ me to see you in this little number. Which, by the way, is really, really working for me, if that's what you wanted to know."

Her cheeks are getting pink. He's got her cornered. "Castle. Change the name. You cannot make me into some kind of trashy literary hooker!"

"You know, you're really hot when you're angry."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm _not_. You're angry. I'm just observing."

* * *

><p>Kate grits her teeth. There is no way she is letting him create this slutty doppelganger of herself. This was not the deal. But short of shooting him, she doesn't know how to convince him to change it. And this dress is too short to hide her holster, so she's (unfortunately) unarmed.<p>

Until she sees him steal another look at her legs, his face covered with completely undisguised lust. Really, Castle? All it takes is some leg? He's that puerile?

On the other hand, that's definitely something she can use.

Because most people don't realize that Kate Beckett can be bad.

Really, really bad.

And yeah. She'll play chicken.

* * *

><p>"I'm not changing the name, Kate."<p>

Her first name seems to make her pause. And then her eyes narrow. And he's pretty positive that means she's got an idea. And he's also pretty positive she might kill him.

"What if I found a way to persuade you?"

"You – what?" He ignores the semi-squeak in his voice, because right now Kate Beckett is eyeing him like a hawk eyeing a particularly delectable mouse and not that he has any objection (come on, she's _hot_) but he's slightly concerned she might actually be planning physical harm.

She smiles, that cat-like smile that floors him because Kate Beckett does not wear too-short dresses and does not wear shoes like this (they say _you want me but you can't have me_) and definitely doesn't look like she's about to – but she _is_. "Come on, Rick. I can be very, _very_ persuasive."

She reaches for his collar, toying with it for a moment before sliding her hand down his chest, fingertips light against his skin, and he can't breathe and he's trying not to think a lot right now because so far all he's coming up with are four-letter words and her long, long legs and how they'd feel wrapped around his waist and a mental catalogue of all the places to hide in a bookstore with enough space to push her up against the wall. Not helping.

And there is _no way_ she doesn't know what she's doing to him right now. She's all danger and sex appeal and bare skin and utter disdain and he doesn't think he's ever been so irrationally attracted to a woman this impossible to please in his whole entire life.

They're in the storage room, boxes of books and and supplies scattered around them. The bookstore managers shifted their furniture to accommodate the reading, so there are a few big armchairs back here which were replaced with folding chairs for his audience. Plenty of room to escape Unexpectedly Sexy Beckett, though.

She's coming towards him, and half of his brain is yelling _just grab her and start groping_ but the other half is yelling _she will shoot you in the face and what the hell do you think you are doing?_ and the first half pleads _but she might not_ but the second half says _get the hell away, this is a trap and she is going to pull your nose off your face and then shoot you in the face and you will be dead_.

He takes a cautious step back, unconsciously looking around for a way to escape from this feral, catlike version of Beckett who is actually stalking him, because she seriously looks like she's planning to do things to him that might be sexy but will definitely be painful and he's not entirely sure what to do with that.

"Don't you want to hear me out, _Rick_?"

She reaches out, pokes one finger into his chest, and he stumbles back into a chair, falling into the cushions with an ungraceful _oomf_, and she's _right there_ and her legs are so very, very naked right now and she's leaning over him and she smells so damn good and what the _hell_ –

Without thinking, he grabs her hand, yanks her down into his lap, and crushes his mouth against hers.

* * *

><p>Oh shit.<p>

This was not the plan.

Her brain is no longer working.

* * *

><p>Oh, this is not happening. There is no possible way this is happening, no way in hell she's letting him do this, no way she's climbing onto him and straddling him and <em>ohhhhhh<em> she did _not_ just bite his ear. No. Not – but oh God, oh shit, she is all _over_ him.

She rolls her lower body against his, slow, dirty, and he has to bite back a groan as he feels his groin starting to tighten and it is utterly not fair that she is straddling him while she's sucking on his tongue like this because he's never going to be able to look at her mouth again without dragging her into the nearest empty room and locking the door. His hands clutch the arms of the chair desperately, his knuckles white, forearms clenched. Because if he lets go, if he lets himself start touching her, they're not going anywhere and that dress is ending upon the floor and he really doesn't want to have to tell his publicist (and ex-wife) that he got kicked out of his own booksigning for having hot angry chair sex with a proud member of New York's finest because there's no way that conversation will go well.

He's thinking he's got himself under relative control, considering the circumstances.

And then Kate does something so downright sinful with her tongue that he can honestly feel the blood surging away from his brain.

His self-control vanishes and he grabs her, pulls her even closer, finally lets himself slide his hands over her legs (God, they never end) and her skin is just so soft and smooth and he wants to touch all of it and how is he ever supposed to work with her again, knowing how her naked skin feels under his hands? – and she's rocking against him just the right way so that his brainpower is fast disappearing and she's sucking on his neck and he doesn't care how badly it bruises because her tongue is on his skin and she's sliding a hand inside his shirt.

She bites at his ear, and Castle can't help himself; his hips jerk sharply, driving into hers at just the right angle to make them both groan as she throws her head back, panting, but he grabs her and pulls her back and kisses her again, taking control, forcing his tongue past her lips as she arches into him, and all he can think is _oh God yes more_ –

She's rough, biting at his lip, all heat and anger and a shudder runs through his body and he's slowly inching this tiny skirt up her legs (there's not much further for it to go) and her thighs tighten around his waist and he is so far _beyond_ turned on right now.

He's trying desperately to control his ragged breathing as she plants a row of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, the line of his jaw, her hands buried in his hair, and it takes him a second to realize she's slowing down, her kisses getting slower, teasing, drawn-out.

She places a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth, just barely touching his lips, and he cannot move right now. Cannot move.

"Castle – " she murmurs, and he swallows, because her voice is low and throaty and hazy with desire and he really, really, really wants to hear this dark, husky bedroom voice of hers more often. Like every day. And every night.

He tries to speak. Fails. Probably because her mouth stops him. Not that he's complaining.

"Detective – " he manages.

He winces a moment later, because she bites his lip and it's more than a little vicious but he still kind of likes it. He really likes it. Kate Beckett can bite him any day she wants. Wearing anything she wants.

"I hate you," she growls, biting his jaw.

"I know."

He can't stop himself, letting out a soft noise as her hips shift against his, her pink lips soft and swollen from kissing him, her face flushed, her body pressed so intimately against him –

He finally clears his throat and manages to form a real sentence. With words and everything.

"I'm not changing the name," he whispers, his mouth brushing hers delicately.

She scowls, pushes him back against the chair, climbs off of him (_no…_) and leaves without another word.

The door bangs shut behind her, but Castle makes no move to follow. He slumps back into the chair, closes his eyes, groans. Shit.

He needs a few minutes.


	7. 1x09, Little Girl Lost

**Chapter 7: 1x09, Little Girl Lost**

_Ying-yang is harmony. Ying-ying is a name for a panda._

She already hates – _hates_ – cases when the victims are children. This one looks to be no different.

And then Montgomery says _Sorenson_.

And she knows this day is absolutely shot to hell.

* * *

><p>"I meant to call. Must've picked up the phone a dozen times."<p>

Oh God, please not this. Not now. Not when she's trying to focus on finding a missing girl and she's got way too much bottled inside and it's late and she's so tired she might let it all out. Please, Will. We don't have to have this talk right now.

"Boston was a great opportunity."

She can't look at him, and seriously, she doesn't want to be standing in someone else's kitchen, because it feels entirely too domestic and normal and she has a _job_ to do and being around her ex is not making this any easier. "I'm not saying that it wasn't. I'm just saying it was a choice. That didn't include me."

She tightens her jaw and forces herself to stop before he catches on to the amount of crying she did because the guy she'd seriously thought might be the one had chosen his career over her without a second thought. Like she wasn't good enough. Like she'd never be good enough.

She's over him. She doesn't want to have this talk.

"Didn't stop me from missing you. Missing us."

Will. Please. Not this.

He's coming closer, and she can feel the wall at her back and she's trapped, can't move, can't stop him, can't stop listening. She breathes through her nose, trying to hold onto her control. He's stepping in closer, his eyes falling on her mouth, and she knows, knows what he's going to do, doesn't know how to respond, and her fists curl around the doorway behind her, and she feels like she's suffocating as his breath falls on her skin.

His phone rings, jarring the fragile moment, and she tenses, her breathing shallow. Will sighs, his eyes closed.

"Damn it. I – sorry, Kate, I have to – "

Will steps aside, pulling out his phone as he heads into the living room, and she's thinking this couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Oh – good. Beckett. There you are."

Okay, _now_ it couldn't get any worse. In walks her personal irritant. Why? Why now?

"I thought I told you to go home."

"I did go home. But then – "

He rambles on about something, and she closes her eyes for a second, because she is a mess and she half thinks she shouldn't be working this case at all because she's not on her game, she's worn out from the stress of a missing child, she's not focused and she can't concentrate. Castle is really the last person she wants to see right now. Because it's bad enough trying to work out her feelings about Will. And Will has known about her crush on Richard Castle from the beginning. So it's not just Will; it's Will, and Castle, and her past, and stupid youthful infatuation, and scared attraction, and fighting with Will, and fighting with Castle, and she can't even separate the one from the other because she really doesn't know how she feels about either of them right now but she's still scared.

Her eyes snap open as she feels a gentle touch on her elbow, and she thought it would be Will but it's Castle, who's stopped mid-ramble and is watching her with a look she doesn't think she's seen before. His eyes are unusually serious, his face gentle and concerned as he touches her arm, not enough to alarm her, just enough to try to calm her down. "Hey. You okay?"

She swallows, because it's noisy in the living room nearby so he's leaning in, and he's just so close, and really, it's almost worse that he's being kind and considerate right now, because she's so frustrated she wants to kick something until she's exhausted.

But he's right there, and his eyes are so very, very blue, and she doesn't even realize she's leaning in closer – she sees a sudden change in his eyes, the startled look, hears him whisper _Kate_ – until suddenly her eyes are closed and her lips are on his.

His whole body goes very still against her, and her hands come up to cup his face, gently tracing over his jaw, the hint of stubble under her fingers, and her breath is caught in her chest and time has stopped and his mouth is warm and gentle and he's kissing her back and –

His hand closes around her wrist, his thumb warm against the sensitive skin where her pulse is racing, and he slowly pulls away, and Kate opens her eyes (which she _refuses_ to admit are stinging; she's just tired) to find him watching her with that unnerving expression, the one that makes her think maybe she can't just dismiss him as an annoying sidekick anymore, that he's something else, that there's something there, something she might have had once if not for the FBI.

"Kate." His voice is low; her eyes flicker shut for a moment as she lets it wash over her, soft, intimate, comforting. Like everything in her life isn't royally screwed up right now. Like he understands. "Kate. We both know what that was."

"I – Castle – " Her face is burning. She turns her head away, mortified. What the hell just happened? She _never_ loses control like this.

"It's alright." She feels his hand gently tip her chin up, till she finally looks up with shamed eyes to find him watching her intently, his face (those blue eyes) so close she's swept with the irrational desire to kiss him again, shut him up, make him stop talking because it just makes her feel more confused and all she knows is that she wants to kiss him again, wants it more than she wants to think. But she doesn't; she's frozen, doe-eyed, watching dazedly as his lips move until his words register in her brain. "I understand. You weren't kissing me."

She tries to explain but doesn't know where to start. She _was_ kissing him. But – there's Will, and she's still in a thousand places and she's so tired she can hardly think and being here, first with Will, and then with Castle being genuinely sweet, and standing so close with those impossibly blue eyes, she just – she couldn't –

Before she can put together any form of a reply, his thumb skims lightly over her cheek, his fingertips light on her jaw, and she shivers a little because she's tired and scared and wanting and so vulnerable she knows she's going to do something really, really stupid. More stupid than this. If that's even possible.

Castle leans forward, his hand still on her cheek, and her chest seizes up because for a second, she thinks he's going to kiss her again, and her mouth falls open, her eyes shutting, and he smells _so good_ –

His breath falls on her skin, his mouth right beside her ear, and she swallows unevenly, her hands clutching the wall behind her to stop them from reaching for him as he whispers.

"Next time we kiss, Kate, it'll be for real."


	8. 2x01, Deep In Death

Because seriously, who doesn't love Undressed Russian Slutty Beckett?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: 2x01, Deep In Death<strong>

_But you are man, aren't you? Very handsome man._

If the Russians don't shoot Castle first, Kate Beckett is going to.

But first, she has to take off her clothes.

She strips behind the van quickly, remembering the half-asleep neighbors from her tiny student apartment in Kiev, girls who never seemed to be quite dressed. And never seemed to care. She doesn't have a lot to work with right now, but she can manage a pretty decent facsimile of their style with what she's got.

Richard Castle. Richard _Castle_. Stupid, pigheaded, idiot, moronic –

She swears under her breath, tousles her hair into passably slutty Euro-trash style, and prepares to save the idiot. Again.

* * *

><p>Castle is <em>elated<em>. He's found the fake pinky-man, he's cleaning up at poker, and he's wearing a damn _spycam._Seriously. Beckett may not be happy with him right now, but he's kind of James Bond-ing it up tonight and she'll be proud of him for it.

Probably.

Well, he _sort_of hasn't exactly followed her instructions. Still. All the heroes go rogue at some point, right?

He takes a drink, casts a glance around the table of tattooed Russians. Fake Pinky looks antsy. Aha. Not-really-subtle provocation is working, then. Pinky is _definitely _the guy. Castle feels himself swelling with the pride of justice. Seriously, he's like half-Jedi, half-Sherlock Holmes right now.

The Russians suddenly pause, staring at him with odd looks – is that jealousy? yeah, he's doing well, but come on, guys, poker faces – and he's about to speak when he feels a hand trail up his arm, over his shoulder, slide through the short hair at the nape of his neck. Oh. Wow. He likes that. That's nice.

He cranes his neck, expecting to find some buxom Russian with blonde hair, red lips and not a lot of inhibitions.

The woman he finds actually standing behind him is infinitely more exciting. His jaw drops.

_Beckett?_

"What - what are you doing here?"

He's proud he manages not to squeak. Because important pieces of Beckett's clothing seem to have simply vanished. Like her shirt. And her pants. And he can see her bra (oh God it is _red_ and he is going to dream about it) and her legs are bare and _so long _(oh, he's going to dream about those too).

"Come for you, darling," she drawls in a Russian accent he's never heard from her before ever but he wants to hear every night because he hadn't thought she could get any hotter but yeah. This does the trick. She runs her hand over his shoulder and it's not even really sexual but it feels so _dirty_.

"Something you need, babe?" Fine. He doesn't know what she's doing, but he'll go with it because she's Beckett and she's not really wearing much and she's running her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp, and that's fine with him. Totally fine. Oh yeah.

"Something _you _need, I think." She tugs his hand, and he obediently stands, letting her draw him away from the table, where the Russian players are watching with undisguised interest. "Come on, Richard. We need to go make you get very lucky." She flicks her eyebrow upwards, a coy smile on her pouty lips.

Oh.

Ohhhhhhh.

So _that's_what she's doing. His girlfriend, right?

Prove it, Kate.

"Gotta get me a little honey, boys." He smirks, slides his hand up her leg (her _bare_ leg), and to her credit, she doesn't flinch, just looks up at him with those big dark doe eyes of hers and seriously, _seriously_, with the bedroom eyes and sexy tousled hair, that red mouth of hers is making him think of terrible, wrong, hot, dirty things he wants her to do to him.

One of the guys snorts and says something in Russian that makes the other guys laugh, one of them making a crude gesture. He doesn't understand. But she probably does. He looks down at his new girlfriend, because he is really, really enjoying looking at her. "What did he say, baby?"

She'll probably shoot him later for calling her 'baby,' but it's not like she's got anywhere to hide a gun in this getup. And she's going to shoot him anyway for putting his arm around her. She keeps up with the charade, slipping her hand inside his shirt collar to stroke his chest. (Oh yeah. She can do that anytime.) "He says I'm going to go – how do you say – make head for you?"

Oh God. Oh shit. That accent. He has no idea when this stopped being a legitimate case and turned into his newest, hottest fantasy. But they can't stop now.

Well…he really doesn't want to stop now.

"Tell him yeah, babe. We'll be back when I'm a little more – _relaxed_."

He slips an arm around her waist as she says something in Russian (God, it is so damn sexy) that makes the Russian guys laugh again. She leans into him as he tugs her back towards the kitchen, puts her lips to his ear like she's going to whisper something dirty (who is he kidding? with the way she's pressed up against him at this point like some kind of impossible wet dream, she could whisper her grocery list and it'd be like porn), but she hisses "I am going to _kill _you for this, you bastard."

It's not a grocery list, but yeah. It's still so very, very hot.

"Is that a threat or a promise, Ekaterina?" he murmurs, watching her eyes flash in dark, heated disapproval. Pissed-off Beckett is hot. Scary. But hot.

Unfortunately, the illusion shatters the moment the kitchen door shuts behind them, and sexy Ekaterina turns back into Kate, who is _not _happy with him. He wants Ekaterina back.

"What the _hell_, Castle?" she hisses, poking him viciously in the chest. Ow. "We found the guy! Why the hell are you still sitting there baiting them?"

"I - was just - trying to act natural. Not give anything away." He was actually trying to channel a little _Casino Royale_into his life, but he doesn't think Beckett will appreciate hearing that.

"Natural my _ass_," she grumbles. He wonders if he should tell her she really, really looks nice today. Really.

He decides this might not be the best time.

"We got him! Why the hell didn't you just go?"

"I had a good hand."

She looks like she is going to strangle him. He still thinks it's hot. "Castle, you arrogant, moronic, _asinine _son of a – "

"Hey! I found your guy! You know which one he is!" The hell. Rebels aren't actually supposed to get in trouble. They're supposed to get medals.

(And laid.)

"Does he _know _you know?" she demands.

He gulps. "Um. Maybe."

She grits her teeth. "Shit." She glances out the window in the kitchen door, and her face falls. "_Shit_. He's coming over here."

He blinks. Because he cannot handle how hot it is to hear her actually talk dirty. And he _absolutely _cannot handle how hot it is that she does it when he's staring at her red underwear. Underwear he wants to see more of. And then maybe remove.

She's freaked out, though. Pinky is headed this way. He looks grumpy. And she's not armed.

"We have to do something!" she hisses. "What's your brilliant plan, Sherlock?"

He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "What they thought we were going to do."

Her eyes widen (he sees a little murderous intent but chooses to ignore it) but she plays along, pressing herself closer against him (_mmmmmmm yeah_) and draping an arm over his shoulders, letting her hand lazily trail over his neck while she nuzzles him.

The door creaks open – he knows the guy is watching them – but nothing else happens. Beckett's whispering in his ear, something he desperately wants her to do more of. Maybe not these exact words, though. "Castle. You'd better not be enjoying this."

"Just doing my part to make the world a better place," he murmurs, 'accidentally' letting his mouth brush her neck, feeling the slight tensing of her hand against him.

"If he doesn't kill you, I will," she replies, placing a soft almost-kiss on his jaw.

As hot as death threats from Nearly Naked Beckett are, that reminds Castle: they're being watched. He sneaks a glance at the door, sees Pinky Russian very obviously watching, not coming towards them but not leaving. He's watching them. And through the half-open door, he can hear them.

It suddenly processes in his fantasy-fogged mind: the guy's staying put. Wow, creepy voyeuristic Russian murderer.

He suddenly gets it, gets why Beckett's still playing along. They're buying time. He needs to come in, or get close enough for Beckett to grab him, or go away, or something, so they can either take him down or escape. He doesn't look like he's going to let them just stroll out, at any rate.

Castle suddenly wonders – does the guy think he's a cop? Only a cop should know what Castle knows. Pinky might suspect. And everyone gets checked for weapons on the way in, but seriously, it wouldn't be that hard to sneak a gun in.

Pinky thinks Castle's armed?

But Castle's not telepathic and neither is Beckett. He doesn't know _exactly _what she's planning, if she's maybe got some ace up her sleeve (well, so to speak). So he decides to go with his usual plan: act first, think about it later. She'll slap him to death if she wants him to stop.

(And if he's going to die anyway, why not earn it?)

Before she can stop him, he's tugging her belt off, letting it drop to the floor as he slides his hands under that boring oversized sweater and yeah, she really needs to stop wearing sweaters to work if this is what she's hiding underneath them, he realizes, his mouth going dry as his hands slide over the delicate curved lines above her waist, the soft, smooth, warm skin of her abdomen. He likes touching her. He _really_likes touching her.

She gives him a look that is probably meant to convey death and shooting and ear-twisting and pain on his end, but right now he only comprehends _Death later. Touch now_. She doesn't stop him (They're acting, and she knows it. She can't stop him.), just lets him slowly push the sweater down so it falls to her elbows, leaving her shoulders bare, silky, warm, and he cannot stop touching all this perfect skin, soft and tantalizing and absolutely forbidden under his hands but he wants more, wants all of her, wants this not to be fake –

She does him one better. While he's trying to memorize every possible square inch of her naked skin and scarlet underwear (he may be in danger right now, but oh, is he enjoying her), he suddenly discovers she's backing him up against the wall. She yanks his jacket off his shoulders and throws it aside, and as he slowly catches up to Beckett _undressing _him, suddenly her mouth is on his and she's pressing herself up against him and oh shit his mind is gone and she's _kissing him_.

She's dirty, biting at his upper lip, letting out a little noise of utter desire that sends a shot of heat straight through him, and he can't stop himself, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her more firmly, almost roughly against him, her hips tight around his leg. She's raking her nails over his neck and sucking his tongue into her mouth and her breasts are pressed up against his chest and her tongue, her hot wet tongue, traces a line over the sensitive ridge on the roof of his mouth and he groans and _oh_, oh Beckett, nice girls don't kiss like this. Bad girls kiss like this. Naughty girls kiss like this. Naked girls kiss like this.

Her knee is sliding up the side of his leg, the brush of her thigh against him almost too much, and he gasps, his mouth finally breaking free. She doesn't let him go, though; she starts sucking at his throat, her tongue tracing his veins. He slips his hands under her hips, drawing her roughly against him, groaning as she squirms involuntarily at the contact, her thigh brushing against him right where he needs it, drawing a breathy sigh from her as he grits his teeth.

"You seem so tense, baby," she murmurs, the Russian vowels dark, her voice husky and low and so very arousing as she kisses his jaw. "Let me calm you down."

She's sliding a hand down his chest, slowly but determinedly. It's only then that he realizes what she's doing.

Oh. Oh God. Oh God Oh God Oh God.

She – she wouldn't – she's not –

- is she?

No – but –

Her mouth brushes his ear as she whispers, words meant only for him. "Just trust me."

_Trust me._

She's got a plan.

Her hands fall to his waist, and as her slender fingers drag over his belt buckle he swears the air has all left his lungs and he cannot breathe and he's actually clutching the counter behind him, white-knuckled, his arms straining, silently willing his body not to notice, not to react. Just to ignore the way she's slowly undressing him, the smell of her hair, the curves of her barely-covered body just out of reach. He's itching to touch her but he can't. He won't stop.

She slips the end of his belt out of the buckle and there is no shower in the world cold enough to undo what she's doing to him right now. His fingers clench the edge of the counter as he breathes through his nose, not sure if he's praying for this to stop or to never stop.

"You like that, baby?" she purrs - _purrs_- into his ear in that painfully sexy accent, her hand still on his undone belt, and he swallows hard to try and remind himself that this isn't real and she's not really going to -

"You know I do," he manages to say, right before he feels her flick open the button on his jeans and all rational thought leaves his brain and he can't stop the groan that escapes as she starts feathering light, teasing kisses down the side of his throat.

Shit. Shit, shit, he can't –

He can't stop his body's reaction, can't stop her, can only breathe raggedly as she unbuttons his shirt slowly, button by button, her hands so light and careful and everything he's ever going to fantasize about, ever, forever. Oh, _oh_.

While he gulps for air, she finishes the last button on his shirt, and he's only just managed to take a breath when her mouth leaves his throat and she starts trailing kisses down his chest, hot and wet and her tongue is on his skin and holy _shit _this is just too much, it's too much -

He licks his dry lips, trying to muster the nerve to speak. "Wait – shouldn't – "

Her tongue swirls wetly over his navel and his abs clench violently and his whole body tightens and all the blood in his face and brain and everywhere is fast rushing south and he has to forcibly stop himself from tangling his hand in her hair. Oh God. He can't. He just can't. She's –

"Who _are _you?"

The voice is rough and angry and Russian and utterly unwelcome. Castle looks away from Beckett (who is _kneeling_ in front of him, oh _shit_) to find Pinky edging near them. Training a gun on him. Of course – now that she's stripping him, it's now painfully apparent that Castle is unarmed. Not to mention so turned on he's not sure he can move. And therefore not a threat.

Shit.

"I'm a – I'm a novelist!" Please believe. Please don't shoot.

"Do not lie! You a cop!"

Beckett stands, turns, arches an eyebrow like she's seen it all before, like she wasn't just tugging his pants down and making him forget his own name. "Him, a cop? Don't make me laugh. He's barely even a man."

Pinky keeps the gun trained on Castle, but he must be straight, because he's openly staring at Beckett's (mostly naked) body, and Castle has never _ever _been so glad to see Beckett using her powers of hotness on someone else.

Maybe he might survive this after all.

* * *

><p>With Pinky in custody and out the door, Ryan and Esposito come out to meet them, and it takes Castle a second to understand the intensely uncomfortable expressions on their faces as they hold out what seems to be the rest of Beckett's clothing.<p>

Oh. The camera.

They saw and heard everything.

_Everything_.

Um.

"So." Esposito has the beginnings of a smug look on his face. Ryan just looks stunned.

Beckett snatches her clothes back, hugging them to her chest, and shoots the boys a look of steel as she steps behind the van's back door to change. It cows them into silence. For a few seconds.

The minute she's out of sight, they turn back to Castle. He shifts nervously on his feet. "What?"

Ryan motions to his face. "Uh, Castle, you, uh, you've got a little lip gloss – "

Castle immediately tries to wipe off the evidence that Kate Beckett just explored every inch of his mouth and marked it as her own. It's mostly futile. Esposito just shakes his head. And Ryan still looks like a little kid who just walked in on his parents, wrinkling his nose in discomfort. "Dude. She – she wasn't actually going to – I mean – "

"Oh, hell no, Bro," Esposito cuts in. "She was just saving his sorry ass."

"Yeah. That." Castle swallows, trying not to think about those big doe eyes, the way she slowly, temptingly tugged away his belt. Oh God. Russian Beckett. Most dangerous turn-on ever. Even without her gun.

Oh, just imagine, that little getup _with _her thigh holster...

Ryan makes a face. "Ugh. Get over it, man. Button your shirt."

"Yeah. And Castle, you might want to, uh, calm yourself down just a little."

Esposito raises his eyebrows and walks away with Ryan, leaving Castle to awkwardly clutch his jacket in front of the extremely sensitive situation Kate Beckett created and wonder how exactly all of this happened.


	9. 2x05, When The Bough Breaks

So, um, yeah. This chapter is exactly what you think it's going to be. And you're going to read it and snort and think Wow, Cora, Not Very Original – but hopefully you'll be distracted enough to not mind too much.

This chapter is lovingly dedicated to Cartographical, who has been phenomenal as she patiently looks through these rambling incoherent chapters and makes them into some sort of sense.

Warning: there is an f-bomb in this chapter. Young innocents, close thine ears/eyes/whatever.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: 2x05, When the Bough Breaks<strong>

_To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th._

"You know what? Just as well. Because there wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel anyway."

"Oh, there's plenty to the character. She just needs a better _writer_."

His face twists in frustration, and he looks like he's about to snap something back at her when Kate suddenly feels a vise-like hand grab her arm. It's Castle's publicist, all severe pulled-back hair and pursed lips, whose other hand has a deathgrip on Castle's arm. And she does _not _look happy with them. "OK, what the hell is wrong here?"

"Nothing, Paula," Castle hisses, shooting Kate a furious look. She has to bite back a venomous retort. She is _pissed _at him right now.

"Yeah, well this 'nothing' is getting loud and attracting attention," Paula shoots back with a glare. "And I will _not _have Richard Castle in a catfight with Nikki Heat at his own damn party."

"We weren't – "

"I am _not _Ni- "

"Save it!" Before they can protest, Paula's dragging them out with a ferociously strong grip, flashing gracious fake smiles to other partygoers before pulling them out the side door and into the hallway. She gives them a surprisingly powerful shove, and they stumble in through the back door of an empty coatroom. "And don't come back until you've stopped acting like idiot children."

The door slams shut behind her and Kate glares at Castle. "Thanks a lot."

"What did _I _do?"

"You got us put in a timeout!"

"_I _wasn't the one who started yelling!"

"I wasn't yelling!"

"You're yelling now!"

"God, Castle, you are such a _child!"_she hisses, hands on her hips. "Just because you're angry I don't want you tagging along after me like some toddler I have to babysit – "

"Sorry I've wasted so much of your valuable _time_, Detective," he shoots back. "I'm surprised you deigned to show up tonight, since I'm clearly such a pain."

"I didn't realize you were going to throw a tantrum in the middle of your own party!"

She grits her teeth, narrows her eyes, and he's opening his mouth to say something else inane and infuriating and idiotic and who the hell does he think he is? – and she finally snaps. She is so very _done_listening to his constant stream of nonsense. "Just shut the hell up, Castle! I don't want to hear it!"

"Well, isn't that too bad?" he growls, taking a step towards her, fists clenched. Kate's tall but Castle's taller. He's a big man, imposing, and she grits her teeth because how _dare _he try to use his height to intimidate her?

"Don't try to scare me, Richard Castle," she hisses, standing her ground, refusing to let him bully her. They're toe to toe, glaring, so close together she can feel the heat of his body, the rush of his hot breath on her face, the tension rolling off him in waves, taut and dizzying.

"Don't tell me what to do!"

Her heart is pounding, anger coiled tightly in her chest, buzzing in her skin, setting her veins on fire. She is _furious_ and she wants to slap that look right off his face, because he looks so damn delicious tonight but he is driving her absolutely up a wall. And even as they're spitting vemon at each other, he is blatantly undressing her with his eyes, his gaze raking over her covetously, lingering at her chest, and the involuntary shot of lust that floods her body mingles with the hot anger. And she is so pissed off at this irritating manchild but she is so _fucking_ turned on right now and he's _right there_ and he just looks so incredibly hungry and sexy and he smells so good and she just can't _stand _the sound of his whining voice anymore so she finally just yanks him forward by the lapels and kisses him soundly on the lips.

By the time she realizes what she's done, it's too late, because his arms are around her and he's pushing her up against the wall. She tries to speak, to breathe, but his tongue slides easily past her lips, sweeping a hot, wet line through her mouth, curling over the ridge at the top of her mouth as she lets out a strangled moan. Shit.

His body presses harder into hers, the long line of him up against her softer curves, and his hands are greedy, hot, pulling her roughly against him. She slips her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his hair (God, how long has she wanted to do that?) as he devours her mouth. He grabs her thigh, his hand sliding up under her short, tight skirt, making her gasp into his mouth, and then he slides a knee between her legs, pulling her closer, until he hits her in just the right spot and her hips rock forward, pressing her against him harder.

"Shit – _shit_, Kate – " he groans against her lips before his mouth ends up on her neck, and she clutches weakly at his shoulders as he sucks lightly at her skin, his tongue swirling over the pulse thrumming at the base of her throat. Her back arches and she groans, letting him tug her thigh, hooking her knee around his leg to press herself more tightly against him. She rocks blindly against him, the friction hitting her in just the right spot, sending a shot of desire through her bloodstream and she can't hold back the helpless moan that escapes her lips. His reaction is powerful, visceral, a low growl that rumbles through his chest, in the back of his throat, a delicious tremor that resonates in her body.

She shivers. "Castle – _Castle_– "

He hums, low, guttural against her throat. She slides her hand through his hair, swallowing as his hands start wandering, tracing lightly over her stomach, skimming over the swell of her breasts, trailing an agonizingly slow line over the bare skin from her throat straight down, his touch so light and teasing it's almost painful. She lets out a soft noise, something between moaning and begging. She wants more. So much more.

"You wore this dress to drive me crazy, didn't you?" he hisses, biting gently at her earlobe. "You tease. You damn tease."

She tries to find a response, but he rocks his lower body into hers and her mouth falls open in a soundless gasp, smothered by his desperate lips and tongue as he kisses her, hard, demanding, a little rough –

"Is someone in there?"

The unexpected knock and strident voice shatter the frenzied moment. They both freeze, staring guiltily at the coatroom door. Kate holds her breath, wondering if some well-meaning waiter or concierge heard something, suspects, is going to come in and find them eagerly groping each other like horny teenagers.

Apparently their silence is enough; there's a pause, and then she hears footsteps walking away, back in the direction of the main lobby.

Kate slumps against the wall, her head falling back, her leg sliding back, her foot hitting the floor with a thud that makes her shake. "Oh. Oh God."

Castle blinks, his mouth falling open, and her stomach flutters as she realizes he's staring at her lips. Staring at them. His head is slightly tilted to the side. Like he wants to go for round two. Her heart does a flip.

"Kate – "

She shuts her eyes, shakes her head helplessly. "God. We did _not_– "

"Uh. Yeah, we did."

Her eyes flicker open to find him watching her, his eyes bright with an intensity she's not used to seeing from him. "Castle – "

"I think you can call me 'Rick' now, Kate. Seeing as your tongue was just exercising a very enthusiastic search warrant in my mouth."

"_Castle!_"

"Well, it was worth a try," he shrugs.

He looks nonchalant, but there's a sparkle in his eyes, a little levity. Kate feels a great rush of air coming back to her lungs, the ridiculous urge to laugh bubbling up uncontrollably. Seriously. What the _hell_.

She covers her mouth with her hand, but can't stop herself.

"I'm sorry – it's just – it's just so ridiculous – " _If you'd told me five years ago I'd grab Rick Castle in a coatroom and suck his tongue down my throat – _

"Yeah." He thinks for a moment. "Well – is it? Really?"

She swallows. Because she thinks she might know what he means. "What are you talking about?"

He shoots her a baleful look. "Kate. Come on. I've never really been subtle."

She blushes, glances away. It's true. In fact, he's been remarkably straightforward. Ever since the day she dragged him out of his last book launch party.

"Can we just acknowledge that this didn't happen by accident?"

Kate sighs, letting her head rest against the wall. She can't look at him right now. Because that earnest look, with those big blue eyes, that boyish face, the hair she's mussed up, the mouth she just really, really wants to keep kissing into silence until she's forgotten why they came in here in the first place - it's all too much. She can't win. She wants him. She really, really wants him.

She's got it bad.

"Kate, look. I'm sorry I just dropped this Bond deal on you. It really took me by surprise."

She shrugs, trying to play it cool. "It was kind of a shock."

"Don't get me wrong. I've loved Bond since I was a kid. Especially since I've long believed Sean Connery might be my real father." That makes her laugh, roll her eyes. _You wish, Castle_. "But I'm torn. I've really invested in Nikki Heat."

"Invested what? The espresso machine?"

He beams at her, seeing that she's willing to match his wit right now. "That. Time. Personal connection. Emotional involvement."

The warmth in his eyes makes her blush, because she can't pretend she doesn't know he's invested all these things in her.

His smile widens. "And a fair amount of saliva just now, too."

"_Castle!"_

She slaps his arm, but it's halfhearted at best. And she can't really bring herself to protest when he catches her hand, his thumb sliding over the delicate lines of her wrist. She bites her lip, momentarily trying to fight the sudden wash of heat that floods her body at his touch, but his eyes fall to her mouth and she can feel her body relaxing, molding against his, and she knows it's a lost cause.

And honestly, after finding out just what those lips of his can do – she's not entirely against it.

He flashes her a wicked grin. "You know, the human mouth does carry a number of dangerous bacteria. I would consider it only charitable to examine yours on a regular basis. Just to make sure you're safe."

Her lips curve upward. Of course. Only Castle. "How very noble. I assume you'll want to be the only one with access?"

"I certainly wouldn't want to put anyone else in danger," he assures her solemnly. "My safety checks would be frequent. And extremely thorough."

"Would they, now?"

"Germs are very, very dangerous, Detective. I'd like to take another look right now, if you're not otherwise occupied. Maybe check to make sure they haven't spread to other parts of your body as well."

She bites her lip, but can't stop the smile from blossoming as she slips her arms around his neck again, letting him push her gently until her back hits the wall again, his chest pressing against hers, warm and flush and way, way too good. "My hero."

* * *

><p>They manage to slip back into the party room without being too obvious about it, glancing around surreptitiously. Kate's on edge, but no one in the party seems to notice as Castle holds the door for her, a gentle hand on her back, skimming lightly over her bare spine. She bites her lip.<p>

"You two get everything sorted out?"

Kate flinches. Paula is standing right beside them, arms folded, swirling a martini in one hand. The woman is like a hawk. Has she been standing here waiting for them?

"We're fine, Paula," Castle assures her smoothly. "We just needed to talk it out. Sorry we caused a scene."

"Okay. Good." Paula seems satisfied. "No reason we can't all be adults."

"Right." Kate takes a long breath. They were being adults. Very enthusiastic, consenting adults.

"Very reasonable," Castle chimes in, his hand hovering at her elbow. Reasonable is one way to put it. The dumbstruck young bellhop who walked in on them a minute ago would probably use a different term. He didn't actually say anything, though; he mostly just stared at Castle's hand up her skirt.

"Fine." Paula nods. "Rick, you should probably circulate some more. Guy from the _Ledger_will probably want a quote. There are still a few bimbos who want their chests signed. And you should probably say hello to Clancy before he leaves."

"Gotcha."

"Good. Now wipe the lipgloss off your face. And try to act like she didn't just let you get to second base, okay?"

Paula sails off, leaving Castle with his mouth hanging open. Kate feels her face burning.

He blinks and looks back at her, and Kate takes pity on him, grabs a cocktail napkin from a pile nearby and carefully removes the traces of lipgloss that are pretty much all over his mouth and jawline. He's going to have an impressive hickey tomorrow. She's willing to bet she will, too.

"Cleaning up the mess you made, Detective?" he teases, crowding a little too close on purpose.  
>She takes a breath, tries to ignore the delicious tingle coursing through her veins, the urge to pull him back into the coatroom and let him find out exactly what she likes.<p>

"Just trying to make you decent, Castle."

His eyes are dark, keen, dangerous, as he gives her a smile that is downright evil.

"You just wait, Kate. There's nothing decent about what I plan to do to you."


	10. 2x06, Vampire Weekend

Remember Fagin? Remember that adorable baby egg in this episode? I just loved Fagin. So very much.

This chapter does not include him, though.

Sorry.

Carry on.

(Carto, I call this my peace offering for whining pathetically until you finally posted Vortex. To quote your own words from _Fractured:_ "I've always thought that blatant, pathetic desperation was one of my more endearing qualities.")

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: 2x06, Vampire Weekend<strong>

_You wanna bite me? You buy me dinner._

Hmm. Morlock…Morgan Lockerby…looks like the same person. Kate leans in to take a closer look. The resemblance is unmistakable; there's no way this –

"You smell like cherries."

_What?_

The sudden rush of self-conscious heat that swirls through her cheeks throws her for a second, and without thinking, she turns to him. But their faces are already so close, so very close, that before she knows it, they're touching, her lips brushing against his.

She freezes, not thinking, not moving, unable to do anything, because this is Rick Castle and she's had a crush on him for years and it was an accident but his mouth, his mouth – he's actually kissing her – her heart races and her blood pressure skyrockets as she feels his hand coming to the back of her neck, holding her there, keeping her close. Her face gets hot, the blush in her cheeks burning. Oh God. They're kissing. She's kissing Richard Ca-

"Holy crap. Are you two actually _kissing?_"

She gasps, looks up to find Ryan and Esposito in the doorway, gaping. Shit. Shit. What did they just do?

In a brief moment of clarity, she knows that she is not going to escape this with dignity.

"No."

"Yes," Castle says at the same time. _Damn it, Castle. You're not helping._ She glares at him. He ignores it. _Shocker_.

Esposito folds his arms. "I don't know, Ryan. Looked like a kiss to me."

"Absolutely a kiss." Ryan nods, face scrunched in mock-seriousness. "There was definite lip contact. We both witnessed it."

"Yep, Mom and Dad were making out. But the real question is, was there tongue?"

"All right, you guys. Cut it out." She can't fight the blush on her face, or ignore that ridiculously attractive butter-won't-melt smile on Castle's mouth. _Damn it_. "It was an accident."

Ryan actually snorts. "Riiiiiiight. An accident."

"What, your mouth slipped?" Esposito drawls sarcastically.

Beckett glares at the boys, but it's no use. They just grin toothily back at her. She brushes her hair back, trying to regain some appearance of calm. "What'd you get a hit on?"

Esposito, who is not even trying to hide his smile, hands over the file from forensics. Castle reaches for it, but Kate snatches it out of his hands, irritated, because she's flustered and they know it and she _hates _that.

The stake in Crow's heart has Lockerby's prints on it. But Lockerby's virtually untraceable. Kate sighs, flipping through the report. "Of course, if he's mentally disturbed, are we going to get any information if we _do _find him?"

Esposito grins. "Who knows, Beckett? Maybe you could kiss it out of him."

She shoots Esposito a deathglare as Ryan chuckles, but neither seems to care. And Castle, damn him, has the nerve to grin at her, like a little boy who just stole the last piece of candy from the jar. That self-satisfied mouth – that warm, soft mouth –

_Kate. Stop it._

"A little professionalism, please, gentlemen?" It manages to shut up the boys, and even Castle seems to catch on that she'd rather he stop flaunting their (_completely _accidental) liplock. He dives back into the comic, looking for clues as to Lockerby's whereabouts. Finally. At least someone here can be a damn adult.

He points to a sketch. "Here. Recognize that corner?"

She does. Her police mind kicks into full gear: this might be a good lead. She stoops, examines the drawing. The details are meticulous and perfectly captured; she can read the graffiti, easily catch the unique features of the –

"Whoa, careful, Beckett. Don't get too close, now. Wouldn't want your mouth to slip again," Esposito warns her.

"She's just investigating," Castle grins. "As thoroughly as necessary."

She glares daggers at Castle, who looks smugly pleased with himself. The boys are laughing at his little joke, and Beckett grumbles, because she absolutely does _not _want to deal with this. She narrows her eyes, sees the self-satisfied mischief in his face, and with her free hand, she latches onto his ear, digging her nails into his earlobe, relishing the pained yelp he lets out as he paws desperately at his ear, trying to get free. "Ow! Ow, Beckett! Apples! Apples!"

"Do _not _test my patience. Any. More. Do I make myself clear?" she breathes, enunciating every word as perfectly as possible.

He whimpers something that sounds close enough to _yes ma'am _to satisfy her, so she lets go, heading for her desk to grab her keys. They've got a vampire to find.

Esposito stays to tease Castle about something, but Ryan tags along at her heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly, catching up as she pauses at her desk. "Hey Beckett?"

"Yeah?"

"Just because you and Dad are fighting doesn't mean you don't love us anymore, right?"

She grits her teeth and sighs heavily.

This is going to be a long day.


	11. 2x04, Fool Me Once

As always, many thanks to Carto, who is the main reason this chapter went from Hmm, I Think They Should Make Out Somehow to AHA THERE IS PLOT.

This chapter is sort of a companion/rewrite to a scene in the middle of the ep: Beckett and the boys are working late at the precinct; Beckett tells them she has plans and leaves. We see her at home, lighting candles, drinking wine, and reading _Heat Wave_. This chapter picks up there.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: 2x04, Fool Me Once<strong>

_What if I told you that my date was with your book?_

A knock at the door rouses her from reading. Hmm. Delivery's quick tonight. They'd had pizza at the station, but she didn't find herself wanting pizza, so there's Chinese on the way. She wasn't expecting it for another ten minutes at least; this is impressive.

She clambers out of the bathtub, dripping all over as she quickly snags her robe and pulls it on. She pads barefoot into the living room, tying the sash around her waist as she tries not to get too much water on the wood floors. "Coming," she calls, grabbing her wallet and reaching for the chain on the door. Habit has her peering through the peephole, wondering if it's Jimmy or that other delivery boy whose name she can never remember –

- but she almost drops her wallet, her jaw tensing. _You have _got_ to be kidding me_. Castle. Richard effing Castle. Why? Why is he here?

She freezes, wondering if maybe he'll go away, maybe he didn't hear her…

"I know you're there, Beckett. You may as well just open the door."

She sighs, closing her eyes briefly. Experience has taught her that Castle will not go away. He just won't. Best get this over with, then. She presses her fingertips to her forehead, grits her teeth, and wipes the strands of wet hair off her face before slowly unlocking the door and pulling it open.

"_Castle?"_

He opens his mouth but doesn't say anything, and she sees his eyes drop to her chest. She huffs, folds her arms, clutches the edges of her robe together. Opening the door was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Especially wearing this robe and nothing else. "Castle. Eyes up here."

"Right." He obeys hesitantly, meeting her eyes, looking almost penitent. Almost. "So. How's your evening, Beckett?"

"Fine." She reminds herself not to take the bait. Rick Castle can sell beef to cattle, given the opportunity. Don't give him a chance to start in on small talk. "What was so important that you had to come here and bother me?"

"Just that I cracked this case _wide_ open," he announces proudly, a hint of smugness in that face which she steadfastly refuses to think of as ruggedly handsome. And she will _not_ let him do her in with this half- innuendo. Absolutely not. His gaze flicks over her again, his mouth curling delightedly. "You know, the thought of you, all soaking wet like this – strangely arousing."

"Just give me your 'case-breaking' information." And then she can get rid of him. Food will be here soon. And she has no intention of inviting him to join her.

"Well, I went a little Daddy Dearest on Alexis. It got me thinking. If I can go this crazy over a violin teacher – " she already knows this won't be good – "how crazy would I go if my daughter was about to marry a scam artist? Crazy enough to kill, maybe?"

He's fixed her with that earnest gaze, begging for approval.

"That is – "

"Inspired?"

"No."

"Brilliant?"

"Mm-mm."

"Genius?"

"Uh-uh."

"What?"

"Thin."

"Oh."

What did he expect? "Your big breakthrough was that _maybe_ someone was angry?" Seriously? This is pathetic. "It's not enough for me to even _think _the word warrant. It's basically useless. And why are you here, anyway?"

He looks innocent. Obviously he's not. And she will _not_ look at those big blue eyes. She won't. "To – to tell you – "

"You couldn't have just called?"

Castle opens his mouth, shuts it. Opens it again. "Well – "

She suddenly gets it. Her mouth falls open. "Are you here to _spy_ on me?"

"What? No!"

"You _are!"_ She shoots him her fiercest glare, because no amount of charm in him (or wine in her) is going to erase the fact that this is just _creepy_. "You just couldn't _stand_ the thought of me having a night off, could you?"

"It – wasn't – I didn't mean that. No." But he looks faintly guilty, and Kate knows she's at least somewhat right. "Look, I'm sorry I intruded on your snorkeling session, or whatever. I will go and leave you in peace. I promise. Can I use your bathroom before I go?"

"No." He needs to leave. "Castle, seriously, I'm really not – "

"Please? Beckett?"

"_No_. Castle. Please go away."

He shoots her a curious look. Her stomach drops. He looks like he might be onto something. "Why?"

* * *

><p>"Castle – " She lets out an impatient breath. She's uncomfortable. She wants him to go.<p>

Castle gets it.

_She's hiding something_.

Well, there must be a reason she doesn't want him in the bathroom. And she's wet – and oh, God, is he enjoying the fact that she's wet. Especially how this flimsy, silky little robe is clinging to her wet body. In places he wants to know more about. And he's reasonably sure she would not have opened the door, let alone allowed him in, if there were a man with her. Which means she's alone, wet, and hiding something in her bathroom.

_Better to ask forgiveness than to seek permission, right?_

He heads down the hallway.

* * *

><p>"No! Castle! Stop!"<p>

She grabs, manages to catch his arm, but he's too quick, too tall, too big for her to stop him, not when she's simultaneously trying to make sure he doesn't get a better view down the front of her robe. No, no no no no…

* * *

><p>He manages to get his arm through the open door and lean in – the bathroom door is partially open, and after all, cops are allowed to go in when the door's open, right? Or something like that? Ah, hell, close enough – and ignores her tugging on him, peers inside.<p>

His jaw actually drops. Oh. Oh God.

Candles.

Wineglass.

Bathtub.

Steam rising from the water.

Kate Beckett just stepped out of a hot bath.

She's tugging on his arm, trying desperately to pull him away, but Castle holds onto the doorway, mesmerized. He's not leaving. Not when his mind is swimming with images of Kate Beckett slipping off that robe…sinking into the tub…steam flushing her cheeks…bubbles and hot water soaking every inch of her soft body…

His mouth is dry. He swallows, but he's having trouble doing much of anything else right now because the pictures flooding his mind are hot and dangerous and so very, very forbidden.

"Castle. Get _out_."

He's about to turn, and she's probably going to slap him the moment his face is in range, but something beside the tub catches his eye.

_No way_.

He turns to stare at her, eyes wide, because he is seeing Kate Beckett in an entirely new light right now. And it's so impossibly sexy.

"You were reading my book?"

* * *

><p>He saw <em>Heat Wave<em>.

He blinks, his face slack with sheer disbelief, and she wants to sink into the floor. She wants to disappear.

* * *

><p>Oh. God. This was her secret plan. She wanted to sink into a hot bath, drink wine, and read his book.<p>

The horrified look on her face tells it all. Castle can't speak. He just keeps looking at her, looking back at the bathroom, the flickering, seductive candlelight. His imagination, vivid and willing, paints pictures he can't resist. He sees her in the bath. Naked. She turns the page, color rising in her cheeks, beads of perspiration on her bare shoulders.

She gets to page 105. Her mouth falls open.

Her face gets flushed.

Her breathing gets shallow.

She sets the book aside, her eyes fluttering shut.

Her hand slips under the water –

_Stop. Stop, Rick._

He forces himself back to reality, refusing to let himself finish that train of thought. His body is too fiercely interested to ignore it, but he tries to take a breath, calm the sudden rush of desire swamping him.

She's not speaking, not moving, just staring at him, her face still in the steamy air, unreadable. But her body is poised, hovering, her weight shifting between her feet like a nervous animal planning an escape.

He doesn't want her to escape.

He needs to calm her down.

Castle takes a step back, giving her a chance to regain her equilibrium and take a breath, but still staying close enough that she can't just brush past him. "Beckett – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Sure enough, she seems to relax a little, the tight lines in her throat smoothing out. Her cheeks are still flushed, but the bathroom is steamy from the hot water and he can feel the damp warmth on his own skin too.

"It's okay. Really."

He tries to think of what else to say to calm her down and convince her not to throw him out on his ear. But she's staring at his mouth. Staring at it. Like she's not hearing anything he's saying. Her eyes are dark in the soft gold half-light, her cheeks flushed in the steamy air, her lips parted.

Something hot and dangerous uncoils inside his chest.

Because he knows what it means.

"Kate."

Her given name – so rare from him – catches her attention, and she looks up at him, eyes dark with arousal through the curtain of her lashes, her gaze heated and desperate, at once dangerous and demure, coy and innocent and so very, very tempting. Oh, so tempting. And that deep pink flush from the hot water and steamy air, spreading from her throat, down to the boundary of the robe, so very thin and flimsy over her naked, wet body, and ohhhhhhhhhh he shouldn't be thinking about this.

She absently licks her lips, and he feels his whole body waking, aware, and there's no way around it. He wants her. He wants her right now.

"Don't be embarrassed."

She just stares at him, mesmerized, her breathing shallow. He gently takes a step forward, carefully invading her personal space, trapping her against the wall. She doesn't try to stop him, doesn't try to escape. He can't stop looking at her, the strands of wet hair plastered to her neck, the bead of water that slips down her throat and vanishes into the swell of her breasts, the glitter of droplets on her skin, the enticing little dip at the base of her throat that seems to be begging for his mouth. She's so soft and warm and smells so delicately sweet, like some kind of flower, and he just really needs to touch her. He needs to touch her. So much. That soft, silky skin…he needs it.

* * *

><p>He's coming closer. She can feel the air getting close, the steam curling softly between them. He's watching her with a look she's never seen from him. It's sure. Hungry. Wanting. Patient. Like he knows exactly what she wants. And he knows exactly what he's going to do to her. Her skin is burning. She knows he's going to touch her. And it's going to feel good. Her blood is singing in her veins, every breath in her body hot and torturous and aching, low in her belly, her whole body flooded with pure <em>want<em>.

She shouldn't. Shouldn't let him. Her fingers curl around the doorframe behind her. She can't touch him.

"I like this, Kate."

_Don't touch him._ Oh, that voice. It undoes her. That soft, low voice, growly and rumbly and washing through her like a caress, like a kiss, intimate and a little naughty and oh, they shouldn't –

He takes another step. He's only inches away. She bites her lip, swallowing nervously, her fingers tightening reflexively.

"You're so beautiful – "

_Don't touch him_. _Don't_.

"- and so very, very sexy – "

_Don't look at him_.

She turns her head, forcing herself to look away. He's so close right now. She can feel his breath, hot and delicate against her cheek, her neck, curling over her wet skin, and she clenches her teeth, willing her body not to respond.

"- and you know what I'm thinking about right now, don't you?"

_Oh God yes._

She knows. She can see it, can see exactly how he wants to taste her skin, pull her robe aside, let it hit the floor, trace the lines of her body with his fingers, find every secret hidden place that makes her shudder and moan and beg underneath him, and he's going to be good at it. He's going to be so good at it.

* * *

><p>He watches, his mouth dry, as Kate's lips part, so pink and soft, and he wants them, wants to taste them, nibble at them, suck on them till she squirms against him. Her eyes are fluttering, half-open, and he has to keep himself from leaning over, licking the droplets of water clinging to her collarbone, glittering in the candlelight.<p>

She drags her eyes, hazy and soft and heated, back up to his, and his breath catches, his body hot and thrumming, because there's something dangerous in her look, something animal. He knows this look when he sees it. Kate Beckett is hot for it. Really, really hot for it.

He places his hands on the wall, on either side of her shoulders, boxing her in, watching as she lets out a shuddering sigh, unconsciously stretching her neck, and he stares longingly at the pale column of her throat, water droplets clinging to her skin. He leans forward slightly, pressing against the wall, and she stares at him, open-mouthed, like she's waiting for it, so close that all he has to do is crane his neck, meet her lips–

He leans forward, tipping his head toward her ear, letting his nose just barely graze her skin, feeling the tremor that runs through her, the sudden working of her throat muscles as she swallows unevenly.

He lets his lips brush over her cheek. So soft. Perfect.

"You wanted to be alone with Richard Castle tonight, didn't you?"

* * *

><p>She tries to form an answer, but then her eyes flicker shut and his lips are on hers and words don't matter.<p>

* * *

><p>She's so soft and warm and drugging and sweet, her mouth so gentle under his, and he's cautiously touching, feeling the silky fabric of her robe, the damp heat of her wet skin under his fingertips. He's taking his time, letting his fingers explore, inch by inch, waiting to see just what he can get away with, just which spots make her shiver.<p>

His thumb slides to a pressure point in her neck, presses down, and he feels every hint of tension leave her as she goes limp, her body sinking into his, warm and smooth. Her hands slide up his arms, curling around his neck, pulling them even closer together. Her breath is coming fast and hard, her eyes clouded over with lust. He can feel her soft curves flush against him, warm and tantalizing, and he has no idea how he's ever going to look at her again without grabbing her.

* * *

><p>She can't move, can't breathe. Her skin is tingling, her nerve endings on fire. He's slow, cautious, making her frantic for more but she's so far beyond thought right now that all she can do is gasp and clutch at his shoulders as he places a line of hot, wet kisses down her throat, his tongue running a torutously slow line over her skin. <em>Ohhhhhhh Castle. Unnnnnnh<em>.

He slides a hand under her leg, pulling her roughly against his lower body, and as he hits her in just the right spot, the ache between her legs gets unbearable. She can't stop herself, letting out a breathy little moan, her back arching, pressing her harder against him. His tongue slips into her mouth again, muffling her cry, wetly tracing the line of her lips.

* * *

><p>Her tongue. Her <em>tongue<em>.

He's having trouble forming coherent thoughts, because Kate is making out with him like some horny teenager and that little moan she let out almost undid him. And the friction as she grinds herself against his leg is just so hot, so dirty, so good. And she's arching against him, her breasts pressed up against his chest, soft and warm, her fingernails tracing lightly over his scalp. He lets out a groan, tearing his mouth away reluctantly, gasping for breath. Shit. _Shit_. She's so hot.

She blinks, her eyes briefly falling to his mouth. She bites her lip, and he can't help himself. He kisses her again, hard, aggressive, nipping at her lip, sucking on it gently before letting her go. "It drives me _crazy_ when you do that."

She lets out a laugh, and it's breathless, soft, so very alluring. "Bite your tongue, Castle."

"_You_ can bite it. It's yours now."

Kate grins at that, that slow, catlike smile he loves so much, and she looks up at him, eyes sparkling behind the dark fringe of her lashes, her lips pink and warm and thoroughly kissed. She slides one hand down his chest, and his heart stutters to a halt as she hooks two fingers into his belt. "I – it – Kate – "

"You said it yourself," she murmurs, tugging him closer, until they're face to face again. "I'm alone with Richard Castle."

"What do you plan to do to him?"

He catches his breath as she slides her hands over his chest, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt, flicking a smoldering glance up at him. "Teach him a few things about _heat_."

_Oh, yeah_.

He feels his body responding, anticipating, heating up as she hooks her hand in his belt again, nuzzling at his neck. He groans, a deep hum resonating through his chest as she places a soft kiss at the base of his throat, swiping her tongue over his pulse point.

"Come on, Writer Boy," she whispers. "Show me how you figure out those steamy little scenes."

_Oh God yes_.

He growls appreciatively, letting her tug his arm, pull him out of the bathroom, down the hallway. He grabs for her as she's reaching for her bedroom door, manages to catch the sash of her robe. She pauses as he catches up and smiles, her lower lip caught in her teeth. "What?"

He tugs at the sash, watching it loosen. "Teach me about heat, Detective."

She laughs, grabbing him, kissing him, tugging him with her through the doorway. Her robe hits the floor in a flutter of silk, the door shuts behind them, and the book, for now, is completely forgotten.

* * *

><p>Jimmy adjusts his cap and knocks again, staring at the door in confusion. Miss Beckett's a regular. But she's not answering right now.<p>

"Miss Beckett? Miss Beckett, delivery."

He strains, but hears nothing. He huffs – she's nice, and she tips well, too – and presses his ear to the door, frowning in concentration. No voice. No footsteps…

…wait. Is that? – it sounds like – is that what he thinks it is?

His jaw drops.

Oh.

Shit.

Jimmy looks down at the takeout bag, looks back at the door, and decides Miss Beckett probably won't miss it. Sounds like she's, uh, busy right now.


	12. 1x01, Flowers For Your Grave

Companion to the "Stop and Stare" scene from the pilot. You know the one: it's the reason I legit get a little weepy now when I listen to that song. It's embarrassing.

To my sweet cartographical: we are fic soulmates.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: 1x01, Flowers For Your Grave<strong>

_I'd be _happy _to let you spank me._

She hears someone clear his throat conspicuously, and when she turns around, she finds Castle, watching her expectantly. He wants her attention, apparently. What else is new? "Well. Guess this is it."

He shoots her his full-on puppydog eyes, something he's entirely too good at. "It doesn't have to be. We could, uh – go to dinner. Debrief each other."

She can't help but smile, because that's certainly a new meaning for the word 'debrief.' Or maybe just a very literal one. At least he's being fairly straightforward about it, though. "Why, Castle? So I can be another one of your conquests?"

He grins. "Or I could be one of yours."

There's a moment where she thinks about it. Sees her clothes crumpled on his bedroom floor. Sees herself pinned to satin sheets, laughing as he finds her ticklish spots, winding her legs around his waist. Arching into him. Crying out in release. Lying beside him, sweaty and gasping. (Oh, he's good in bed. She doesn't doubt it. He could have her underneath him and begging.)

Slipping out his front door, trying to make sure his daughter doesn't hear.

A memory flickers through her mind – the crowded bookstore, the long line. The rush of giddy excitement; his hand brushes hers as she hands him the book. The pleasant smile. _To Kate – Thanks for reading. Rick Castle_. Probably the same inscription in every book he signed that day.

The same sex he's had with every woman who ever fell for that charm. He's probably been expecting it since he first met her. The writer who always knows the ending first. Who always gets what he wants. Who writes the stories the way he thinks they should go.

Not today.

He's spent this entire case getting under her skin, irritating her, flirting with her and provoking her. He thinks he's got a handle on her. He thinks he's in control.

Kate realizes that she knows _exactly_ how to tip the situation in her favor, to win it once and for all: take charge.

Change the story.

"It was nice to meet you, Castle."

She politely offers her hand and he takes it, looking somewhat disappointed. "It's too bad. It would've been great."

The sex? Yeah. She knows he's right. But this is him taking control again, making sure she knows what she's missing. And she's decided: he doesn't get to do that. Not this time.

So she leans forward. He stoops, obviously thinking she's going to say something into his ear, but instead, she puts a palm to his cheek, tips his face toward hers, and kisses him.

She can feel him tense with shock. It melts quickly, though, his mouth softening, his body sinking gently into hers. She nips very softly at his top lip and feels his sudden intake of breath. He slides his tongue over her bottom lip, and even as the tingle of pleasure races up her spine, she knows it's time to end this. He only gets enough to make him want more. Enough to show him what _he's _missing.

(Besides, he's a good kisser. And she's not going to give him a chance to change her mind.)

So Kate pulls back, lets him go, forces herself to breathe slowly as she looks up at him. He just stares at her, mouth open, face frozen in shock. She bites her lip, grins. It's not his story anymore.

"You have no idea."

He may not have remembered her at that book signing. But he'll never forget her now.

She turns and walks away, glowing with satisfaction. Castle makes no move to follow; she doesn't hear footsteps. But she doesn't even bother looking back, just walks on, a smile on her face.

She knows he's watching.


	13. 2x13, Sucker Punch

I love this episode. So very much. I mean, Johnny Vong, people. Johnny Vong.

Instead of the same Thank You Cartographical I've been doing since the beginning, this chapter, I am sending my editor/muse a gift. Carto, I hereby give you Johnny Vong's boat. You are the wind beneath my wings.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: 2x13, Sucker Punch<strong>

_I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails._

She presses the buzzer and takes a deep breath. The door opens; Castle blinks. "Hey." He obviously wasn't expecting her.

"Hey."

"Come in." He sets his hand gently on her back, guiding her inside, and Kate finds herself struck by how homey his place is, for all it's so luxurious. She doesn't live here. But right now it's far more inviting than her quiet little apartment.

"Thank you."

Martha pulls her close, and Kate finds herself choking up a little. Martha is crazy and loud and all over the place. But she's a mom. She hugs like a mom. And Kate hadn't realized, till just now, how much she missed just being hugged.

"Hang in there, kiddo."

"Thank you, Martha." Kate loves this bizarre little family.

Martha beams. "Leftovers in the fridge; upstairs if you need us."

She grabs Alexis and disappears, leaving Kate with a Castle who seems anxious. Like he's desperate to say exactly the right thing, and he's trying to figure out what it is.

Kate takes a breath, tries to muster up her nerve, but he speaks before she can. "I will do anything that you need. Including nothing, if that's what you want."

She swallows, manages to meet his gaze without faltering. He's so concerned, but he has faith in her. She knows what she wants to say. "What I want is to find my mother's killer."

His eyes flash in delight, and she thinks she catches a hint of pride in his smile. He knows how hard this is for her. He knows what it's cost her. And he wants to help. "We need to break Johnny Vong."

"So let's break him."

Castle nods, his whole posture poised with the excitement he always gets when they're onto something. It's comforting. She hadn't realized how much she's come to depend on it. "He's in holding right now, right?"

She nods. "He's scheduled to be transferred tomorrow. We'll call the DA as soon as the office opens in the morning, make sure we get to him first." She grins. A plan. They have a plan. She can work with this. Castle beams at her.

She's noticing a different manner in him tonight. He's gentler than usual. Careful. Kind. He's trying to do this right. It makes something warm coil in her chest, something she can't quite name. Something she hasn't felt in a long time.

There's a moment, and then he shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, I'm terrible. Here – let me – "

She's not exactly sure why she's here to begin with, and she didn't really intend to stay. But she finds herself peeling off her gloves, letting him pull her coat off. She holds her elbow, watching him set her coat down before turning back to her. "Are you hungry? Um, like Mother said, we've got leftovers in the fridge. And other things."

"No, thanks, I'm not really hungry."

"Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Wine? Uh, hot chocolate? Water? Beer?"

She doesn't really want anything, but he looks so eager to do something, anything… "Tea would be great, thanks."

"Sure."

She follows him to the kitchen, leaning on the island as he fills up the tea kettle and reaches into a cupboard. "Um, do you want chai, Earl Grey, raspberry, this weird green tea Mother swears is really healthy but it kind of smells like pond scum, or mint?"

"Surprise me."

"Pond scum it is." She shoots him a look and takes a few steps towards the stove, but then she relaxes as she sees him reaching for the mint instead. There's a long pause as he rummages through the box, digs out two packets of tea, and pulls out two cups.

"I talked to my dad."

Castle's eyes get wide, but he just nods. He's never met her dad. Kate's genuinely a little curious as to how the two of them would get along. She's relatively sure her dad would love Castle. And she's also relatively sure Castle would be terrified of her dad. Mr. B. was the most feared dad at her high school. He hasn't lost his charm.

"He told me that he thought Mom would have wanted it. Would have wanted me to keep going." Kate folds her arms, leans back against the cabinets. "She was like that. Stubborn."

"I can imagine," he smiles.

She flashes him a half-hearted look, because she knows he's delicately commenting on her own stubbornness. But it's not like he's really wrong. "He, um – it was good to talk to him."

"I'm glad," Castle says, carefully adjusting the stove burner. "I'm glad it helped."

"It did, but – " she takes a deep breath. Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter. "I just – I didn't want him to worry. A part of me is always afraid that if it gets bad – if it's like last time – "

Her voice breaks and she looks down, blinking. But she feels a gentle hand on her arm. She glances up through stinging eyes, and Castle is looking at her, his face taut with worry. Kate can feel her throat tightening. Because she has to keep it together for her dad, but she can't deny the fact that she's scared. She's got a thousand fears and no guarantees that she won't lose herself in this again. And Castle understands that.

"Kate – I just – I want you to know. Anything you need. Anytime. Even if it's the middle of the night. If there's _anything _I can do – "

She swallows. Oh, Castle. He's watching her with those big sad blue eyes, and his face is so warm and concerned, his hand on her arm so very tender, so unassuming. There's a lump in her throat, just a little one that won't go away, and she tries to slow her breathing, but her heart is fluttering. Because he's being kind. He's giving her what she needs.

He's messed up in the past, but right now, Rick Castle is exactly what she needs.

So without letting herself think about it, she leans in, closes the distance between them. His other hand comes to her shoulder, gently tracing circles. Kate shuts her eyes briefly, drinking in the warmth of his breath on her face, just inches away. She settles one hand on his chest, above his heart. He swallows. She can tell he's not sure how to respond, whether or not to say something. She's not usually like this.

She stretches on her toes to reach his level and kisses the corner of his mouth very gently. He tenses, obviously surprised, but he doesn't move to stop her.

It started as a simple, innocuous gesture – just a way to express how grateful she is – but as she's about to step back and let the moment go, suddenly it's not enough. Her chest tightens. She doesn't want to let go. She needs more.

The half-kiss ends, but she stays, her face hovering near his. Her hand is pressed to his chest, and she can feel the hitch in his breath, the taut muscles beneath her fingertips. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she breathes, feels his warmth washing over her skin.

"Kate?"

His voice is soft, low. She looks up. His gaze is hesitant and wondering, his blue eyes wide with surprise. He wasn't expecting this.

Instead of pulling away, she swipes her thumb over his bottom lip, ignoring his sharp intake of breath, and kisses him on the mouth.

Her mind goes blissfully blank. She doesn't register anything but the soft pressure of his mouth and the warmth of his skin. She feels his hand come to her face, gently cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing lightly over her cheekbone. He's nervous. She can feel it. But he kisses her back, his mouth soft and pliant and giving against hers.

She steals one last, quick kiss before letting go. But he doesn't pull away. He stays, his forehead pressed against hers, his hand on her face gently tracing the line of her cheek.

"Hey." There's wonder in his voice, but some amusement too. His eyes are crinkled and warm as he looks down at her. She puts a hand to her mouth. Oh, God. What did she just do?

The tight panic in her chest starts to dissolve as his hand slides over her back, pulling her into his chest, and she lets him. Her cheek rests against his shoulder and she shuts her eyes. And she can't help but laugh at herself a little. She's stripped off her clothes to save him from Russian mobsters, yet she's blushing at doing something as domestic as kissing him in his own kitchen. But he rubs her back gently, pressing his lips to her hair, and it seems like he doesn't mind.

Eventually the tea kettle whistles merrily, and she reluctantly untangles herself from his arms. He gives really, really good hugs.

He points her towards the couch and follows with two cups of tea. She accepts hers gratefully, watching as he sits beside her. She has to give him credit: he doesn't lead off with _How are you?_ or _So, you kissed me just now.._. He knows her too well for that. She's not really sure how to deal with direct right now.

Instead, he turns on the TV, and they sink back into the couch. He flips through channels until he finds an _Ancient Aliens_ marathon on the History channel, and he spends the next few hours trying very hard to convince her that mythology is about nuclear space battles, human DNA is 80% alien, and the dinosaurs _just might _be gone simply because the aliens stole them all.

* * *

><p>"Beckett. Kate. Wake up, sleepyhead."<p>

She blinks awake, dazed, to find Castle rubbing her back gently, smiling. They're still on his couch, and she's leaning into his side, her head lolling on his shoulder. "Did we – "

"Dozed off. It's just after two."

"Mmm." She rubs her face, trying to wake up and convince her body to move. She's too comfortable. Castle makes a good pillow. "I should go."

"Why don't you stay? It's late, you're tired. We've got an extra room. I'll take you back to your place in the morning."

The unmasked tenderness in his look takes her breath away. He's studiously not saying it, but she can hear it anyway: _I don't want you to be alone_.

_No thanks _is on the tip of her tongue, but there's something about the quiet plea in his voice and the affection in his gaze (and, just maybe, the way his lips felt on hers) that convinces her to accept his offer.

He sends her upstairs. Inside the guest room, she sits on the bed, flicking on the lamp, and lets out a shaky sigh. Her life is so screwed up. So utterly screwed up.

She pulls off her boots, setting them beside the bed, and reaches for the little alarm clock on the bedside table. There's a tap at the door. "Come in."

Castle pokes his head in, holds up a little bundle of clothes. "Here. I figured you'd want something to sleep in." He hands her a t-shirt and pajama pants. A Batman t-shirt and Snoopy pajama pants. She can't help but laugh.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Anything else you need?"

She shakes her head. He's done everything. "I'm fine."

"Okay. I'll have coffee ready in the morning," he assures her. "And you know where my room is, if you need something."

"I'm _fine_, Castle."

He smiles. "I know."

She thinks he's leaving, but he hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking back to her with a question. She's about to ask if there's something else, but he crosses back to the bed where she's sitting and stoops to her level. He tips her chin up, just barely brushing his lips over hers in a delicate kiss before pulling away. Heat floods her cheeks, a blush she can't stop. This man can utterly undo her.

"Sweet dreams, Kate."

"Good night." She takes a long breath as he heads for the door. "Castle?"

He glances back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you." It's not enough – not nearly enough – but it's all she has right now.

And from the soft look in his eyes, the way he's looking at her – he understands.

"You're always welcome, Kate." He leaves, shutting the door behind him.

She falls asleep in a comfortable bed, in soft, worn clothes that smell like him, with a smile she can't get rid of.


	14. 2x19, Wrapped Up In Death

So remember how Castle got cursed? – and then got uncursed?

Cartographical, my pet and editor: my continued thanks. Your reward this chapter is your _very own_ dolphin chariot.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: 2x19, Wrapped Up In Death<strong>

_Hey Castle – watch out for the mummy._

He leans in, and Cawca Te whispers something in his ear.

He has to forcibly keep his jaw from dropping. No way. No _way_.

"That's all I have to do?" _'All I have to do.' Right. It'll only get me killed a little bit._

Te nods.

Well. Okay then.

"And one more thing – " Castle looks back at Te. _What else?_ "- I wouldn't say no to a ride to the airport."

Beckett just barely half-rolls her eyes at that – Castle feels an absurd swell of pride that her full eyeroll remains his and his alone – and turns. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>They wave as Cawca Te shoulders his bag and heads into the terminal, and Beckett carefully eases the car back into traffic to leave the airport. "So. Back to your place, Castle? You can get started breaking that scary curse of yours."<p>

He shoots her a baleful look, but it's no use; he can see the smug little grin at his expense that she's clearly not trying to hide. "Go on, Detective. Laugh. Mock the persecuted innocent who opened his home to you in your time of explosion."

She laughs. "I'm so sorry. How wrong of me."

"See, your lips say 'I'm sorry,' but your eyes still say 'bite me.'"

She smiles at that, the playful smile she tries to hide by biting her lip that bursts through anyway. "Shhh, Castle. Focus on not dying till we get there, okay?"

He settles for sending her a deeply hurt look until she pulls up to his building. It doesn't seem to bother her.

* * *

><p>They walk in to find Alexis cutting tomatoes. She looks up and beams. "Detective! Nice to see you again. Are you staying for dinner?"<p>

"She most certainly is," Castle cuts in before she can say _No, I'm escaping as soon as possible._

She shoots him a glare (which he kind of deserves) before turning back to Alexis. "I'd like that. But first I have to give your father a hand with breaking this fake curse of his."

"Okay." Alexis doesn't seem fazed. Good girl. Besides, it's hardly the strangest thing that's happened in the House Of Castle. "Well, as long as you both survive, you should stay."

Castle grins and leans over to kiss her forehead. "You carry on, my child. We'll be back when I'm not a danger to my nearest and dearest."

"Sounds good."

* * *

><p>"All right, Castle. Let's get this over with. Where to?"<p>

"He said dark. We need a room that's completely dark."

She nods. "So no windows?"

"Yeah…let's try the bathroom upstairs."

"Okay."

He's really, really thankful that she's not questioning. This will be so much easier so long as she continues to simply be helpful.

They reach the top of the stairs, and she pauses for a moment. "So what exactly do _I _need to do for this?"

_Crap_.

"Not much, really. I need a witness. And it would help if you'd hold the water glass." It's true. Not complete. But true enough.

"And you couldn't get someone else to do this because…" Her voice trails off in amusement, and he glances back to see her quirking an amused eyebrow at him. _You're the only one I'd try this with, Beckett_.

"You offered, remember?" (Well, she sort of did.) "Besides, you have a vested interest in making sure this ancient vengeful evil is not stalking me."

"I could just kick you off the team."

"I think we both know I am far too stubborn for that to work."

Beckett rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "All right, Curse-Boy. Let's do this."

His stomach turns over, because she doesn't know exactly what she's saying.

But oh, has he waited for a long time to hear her say it.

* * *

><p>He herds her into the bathroom and shuts the door behind them. He flicks off the lights experimentally; the room is immediately plunged into blackness, not even a sliver of light from the door's edge. Perfect.<p>

Flicking the lights back on, he turns to her. "Okay. Need a glass of water."

Beckett obligingly fills up the glass from the sink. "You want me to hold onto this?"

"Yeah. That'd be good." He takes a breath. "Okay. Here goes." He turns off the lights, and the bathroom goes pitch dark again.

"Should I come over closer or something?" Her voice cuts through the darkness.

"No. Stay put."

"Why?" She sounds skeptical.

"Do you really want me groping in the dark to find you? Imagine all the places my hands could accidentally – "

"I'm not moving."

"Thank you."

Well, may as well do this.

Feeling a little ridiculous, though not so much since she can't see him, Castle turns clockwise three times. "Water?"

"Here."

He reaches toward her voice, feels her hand under his fingers, and takes the glass.

After drinking, he screws up his nerve. Almost done. He sets the glass carefully back on the counter and strains his ears. He can hear her breathing. She hasn't moved.

"Are we done?"

"Not quite yet." He swallows, takes a slow step toward her.

"Castle." He hears the note of warning in her voice: _I'm starting to strongly distrust you._

"It's okay, Beckett." He really hopes she's not catching on. He just needs her to hold still for a few seconds. Then she can slap him to kingdom come. And she probably will.

(Still…if it means he gets to steal just one, from the prettiest girl on the playground…)

Ugh. Dark. He reaches forward, feels around until his hand lands on her shoulder. He curls his fingers, feels her shirt collar. "There you are. Just hold still for a second, okay?"

"Castle, what exactly – "

Her voice is shaky, and he can feel the tension creeping through the lines of her neck, the heat of her breath warming his skin. _It's now or never_. Possible death by curse, or certain death by Beckett. No choice.

He traces her cheek with his thumb, finds the soft flush of her lips, feels them part with shock, and before she can stop him, he leans in to kiss her. Her breath blooms against his mouth – his pulse is racing – he is about to _kiss_ Kate Be-

Her immediate reaction is hardly surprising: she jerks away in shock, shoving him. "What the _hell_, Castle?"

In retrospect, maybe blindsiding her with this was not the best idea.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to surprise you. I was afraid you wouldn't help if I told you what I had to do."

She shoves him again, hard, and he stumbles back ungracefully, hitting the door behind him. Yep. Bad idea. "You cannot _seriously_ expect me to believe you have to break the curse by luring me into a compromising situation and sexually harassing me."

"Hey! No! Don't say it like that. That's creepy."

"Turn the lights on, Castle."

"No."

"_Castle_."

"I can't. We'll have to start the whole thing over again." He can tell, from her voice, that she's edging towards him again. He leans his back firmly against the door and presses his hand over the light switch. _You shall not pass_. _Not until I've kissed you_.

"Turn the damn lights on." Oh, wow. That's a tone he knows. That's a Beckett tone. That tone says _Forget the curse_. I'm_ going to kill you. _

"Not until you let me kiss you."

"_Castle!"_

"I'm not making this up!" he yelps, a little pathetically. He may be between her and the door, but if she decides to, she can probably still kill him. "He said I had to turn around three times, drink water, and kiss you, all in the dark. And then I would be uncursed."

"Kiss _me?"_

"Kiss a woman. You fit that criterion. And you offered to help."

"If you are making this up, Castle, I swear to _God_ – "

"I'm not! I'm not. I promise." There's a long pause, in which he swears he can see her glaring daggers at him. He hears her let out a breath. He's not sure what to make of that. On the bright side, she's not killing him..._Say something, Rick. Anything._ "Do you really think I'd risk my life like this just to cop a feel?"

"Well, you _did_ ask me to spank you the first day we met."

His jaw drops. "Well – I – "

"You've been undressing me with your eyes since the day I turned you down, Castle."

"But – not – "

"What's the matter, Kitten? Can't take the heat?"

He swallows, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn't know what to do about the fact that it's dark and he is trapped in a little room with this amused version of Kate Beckett who has this sexy, smoky bedroom voice that is making him think terribly dirty things about what he wants to do to her up against this door. He is not prepared to deal with Playful Beckett. He is not _remotely_ prepared to deal with Sexy Beckett.

But oh _shit_ does he want her anyway.

He manages to regain control of his voice, which had temporarily reverted to puberty levels. "Can we please just – "

"No, Castle. We do this _my_ way. Understand?"

_Do I have a choice?_ "Fine."

"Okay."

He's not really sure what to expect, but then out of nowhere her hands are on his chest, pressing him firmly against the door, and _ohhhhhhhhh_ that's really good. She traces his arm, fingernails scraping lightly over the taut muscles. Her fingers trace the shell of his ear, sliding gently to his earlobe, sending a shot of desire straight through him. She's _good_. He opens his mouth in a somewhat failed attempt to form coherent words, but suddenly her mouth is on his throat and he lets out a breathy laugh. "Oh – God – "

She hums a soft chuckle, sending delicious tingles through his skin, and then sucks lightly at his jaw. "What – what are you doing?" he manages to choke out, sucking in a shaky breath as her tongue flicks over his Adam's apple. His fingers clench tightly around the doorknob behind him.

"Just trying to help, Castle." Her voice is soft, low, intimate, sending the most sinfully dirty thoughts into his mind. He wants to hear that voice in his bedroom. "Relax."

_Relax. Right. When you're – ohhhhhhh God._

She kisses him, her mouth hot and soft and tantalizing on his. Her hand slides over his shoulder, her fingers curling around his neck, tugging him closer. Her tongue slips wetly into his mouth, and he groans. Kate – just – _shit_.

"So? Curse broken yet?"

"Uh – huh?" His brain has gone completely numb. He's only aware of her hand on his neck, toying lazily with the short hairs at his nape, and the sudden absence of her lips on his.

He swallows, suddenly regaining enough brain function for one word.

"Almost."

Before she can protest, he reaches blindly for her, pulls her roughly against him, finds her lips and kisses her again. He threads his hands through her hair, tilting her face up to his, giving himself complete access to her mouth, her hot, wet mouth. Heat flares in his veins as she lets out a little whimper.

She manages to free her mouth to pull in a gasping breath, but he doesn't want to let her go, feathering quick little kisses on her lips. "Ca – _Castle_ – " she manages between kisses, "how's – the curse?"

"Making progress," he grins. "But I think we definitely need to be more thorough."

When she speaks again, there's a hint of amusement in her voice. "Are you trying to feel me up, Castle?"

He spins her around, pinning her back against the door, and she lets out a noise in surprise as his hands slide under the back of her shirt.

"You're damn straight I am."

* * *

><p>They finally return to the kitchen to discover Martha has joined Alexis. Castle's trying very hard to wipe the grin off his face, but as they approach the bottom of the stairs, Beckett elbows him in the side. "Castle. Stop smiling."<p>

"I'm not."

She scowls at him. He still thinks it's hot. "You look like you just snuck under the bleachers with the head cheerleader."

He leers at her a little. Just a little. "Well, as a matter of fact – "

"Finish that sentence and we will _never_ do that again."

He shuts up abruptly and tries to school his features into an expression that says something other than _I just groped Kate Beckett_. _And it was really, really fun._

"Richard, darling. And Detective! What a pleasant surprise!" His mother beams at them, raising a wine glass in salute. "So what have you two been up to? So secretive, sneaking away upstairs…"

"Eww, Gram," Alexis cuts in, wrinkling her nose. "It's not like that."

Beckett looks somewhat relieved at Alexis' quick response, but Castle feels the almost uncontrollable urge to giggle. Because his mom thinks he was just making out with a girl.

And he _was_.

Alexis seems to have satisfied her curious grandmother, because Martha lets it go, sipping wine calmly. "So, Richard. Are you still accursed, or can we sleep soundly knowing the mummy's wrath has been placated?"

"Go on, laugh, Mother. I will have you know that we have lifted the curse just now and I am officially free."

Martha's eyebrows go up. "'We?' You both lifted the curse?..._together?_"

Castle shoots a glance at Beckett, who is staring determinedly at the stove, a faint pink blush tinging her cheeks. "The Mayan guy told me I needed a witness."

"And I decided to make sure my shadow isn't going to get me killed by a mummy." There. Beckett's regained her equilibrium. Castle's relieved. _I'm not very good at being the discreet one, Beckett. That's your job._

"Mmmm. Very wise, dear." His mother nods. "And I can't help it, you two, it is just so _darling_ that you're wearing matching clothes today. Really sweet."

Castle glances down at himself, looks back at Beckett, and as their eyes meet, he's relieved to see the hint of a smile. Striped blue shirts. And, now that he thinks about it, they were both wearing brown jackets earlier.

_Who says there's no such thing as fate?_

* * *

><p>After dinner, during which Castle <em>almost<em> succeeds in making Kate laugh so hard she spits out her wine, Alexis retires upstairs to finish her schoolwork and Martha goes to her own room to take a call from an old friend.

Castle and Beckett end up alone, stacking clean dishes in his cabinets. It's mostly him putting things away while simultaneously trying to stop her from helping because "You're a _guest_, Beckett," though she just rolls her eyes and keeps putting silverware away because she knows exactly where he keeps everything in his kitchen anyway. Before he knows it, they're all done.

There's a long pause as Kate eyes him curiously – probably wondering what he's thinking right now – and Castle tries to formulate words that might convince her _not_ to leave and pretend none of tonight ever happened.

_Well…she reads my books…_"You, uh, want to see the new stuff on my storyboard?"

She folds her arms over her chest, and her lips twitch into a half-smile. "Really, Castle? 'See your storyboard?'"

He shrugs. "It seemed smoother than 'Wanna go into my office and make out some more?'"

Beckett smirks, nods in amusement. "Tell you what, Castle. How about you start being a little more honest about what you want?"

He blinks. _Is this some kind of trap?_ Because the thought of telling Beckett exactly what he wants to do with her is at once utterly terrifying and so terribly, terribly arousing that he's not sure which one is winning out in his brain.

Only for a moment, though.

"Um – okay." May as well go with his instinctive response: _Do what Beckett says._ "You wanna go into my office and make out some more?"

Her lips curl upwards, and his heart leaps in his chest. Her eyes are sparkling with deliciously naughty fun. He really, really likes this side of her. She steps in closer, one hand trailing a tempting path over the front of his shirt, and feigns indifference. "I don't know. You think it'll be worth my time?"

He catches her hand, his fingers curling around her wrist, and he tugs her towards his office. "Come on, Kate. Show me just how wild you are."

Her tongue presses between her teeth, a smile he wants to kiss right off, and she follows him into the office, kicking the door shut behind her before pressing her hands to his chest and pushing him down into an armchair.

"Be careful what you wish for, Castle."


	15. 2x14, The Third Man

The well-loved Remy's date. Because remember: there was hair-twirling.

Carto, as always, you complete me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: 2x14, The Third Man<strong>

…_Oh, why not?_

After Beckett slaps his hand away the third time he tries to steal a fry from her plate ("Eat your _own_ damn fries, Castle." "But yours taste so much better."), Castle finally decides, well, maybe he should just eat his own damn fries. He watches, fascinated, as she dips a few fries in her shake. She pauses, food halfway to her mouth, brow furrowing as she finds him staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing." He grins. "It's just – it's kinda cute when you do that."

She scowls at him, but just like the rest of this evening, the disapproval in her eyes is gentle, like she knows she _should_ scowl but she doesn't really want to put in the effort. Now that he thinks about it, though, this evening shouldn't really be happening. They've eaten plenty of meals together before, so that's not it. But there's something different tonight, something he can't quite –

_Oh my God. We're on a date._

The realization hits him like a bolt of lightning, and he almost drops his burger. She doesn't notice.

_I'm dating Kate Beckett_.

The thought plasters a grin across his face, and she eyes him suspiciously but he doesn't mind. Because this is a date. And if he'd known all it would take was trying to date a generic blonde, walking out of said date to break into a petstore, getting attacked by a tarantula, and cracking down on a ring of international diamond smugglers and catching a murderer, well, shoot, he'd have done this months ago.

When she dips one of her fries in _his_ shake, he sputters in mock-indignation (of course, he's secretly delighted), but she just shrugs. "Serves you right."

"An eye for an eye? Really?"

"No. A fry for a fry."

He laughs out loud at that, and even she can't hide the upturn of her mouth, the sparkle in her eyes, and yeah. This is definitely a date.

* * *

><p>He takes the check despite her protests and then calmly takes her dress bag despite more, and louder, protests. She sighs, but it's late and she seems tired enough that she's not going to fight him too much. So they walk back to the precinct – it's a nice night, and they're both full – and after a minute of comfortable silence, he decides to comment. "So. This is a nice date."<p>

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. "What?"

He grins. "I said, it's a nice date."

Beckett lets out a short laugh. "This is _not_ a date, Castle."

_Oh, keep trying. I dare you_. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disagree, Detective." She shoots him a halfhearted glare, but he blithely ignores it. "It successfully fits all common date criteria. Therefore, I will have to classify this as a date."

"No, it's not."

He shifts her dress bag to his left arm, ticking points off on his fingers. "Number one, we had dinner together. Number two, it was in no way a working dinner. Number three, you let me carry your bag. Number four, I paid. So yes. It was a date."

"Oh, that does _not_ count," she protests. "We had dinner because we were hungry. You carried my dress bag because you took it away from me before I could stop you. And you paid because you're a multi-millionaire who won't let me pick up my own check."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but none of that changes the fact that we're on a nice little date." He bounces on his heels. This is turning out to be the most fun he's had tonight.

"I was coerced."

He shoots her a baleful look. "Really? That's your best argument? Come on. Just say it. It's a date."

"An _accidental_ date."

"Adjectives don't change the heart of the noun, Miss Beckett," he teases, watching delightedly as her cheeks flush a pretty pink. He's got her. "Face it. You're dating Richard Castle."

"I was. I mean, I did. I mean - " She glares at him. "All right. It _might_ have been a date. But it's over."

"No, it's not. I have to walk you to your door."

"You are _not_ – "

"And as usual, I'm going to do it anyway."

* * *

><p>He plays it safe, remaining silent for the duration of the ride as they share a cab back to her place. Her agreeing to let him into the cab was a big enough step. He's not going to push it right now. He has the sneaking suspicion that if he tries hard enough, he can get her to throw him out the door. He also doesn't really want to try it tonight.<p>

As the cab turns onto her street and she moves to step out, he tells the driver to wait and starts to follow her out onto the curb. She immediately looks suspicious. "Castle. What are you doing?"

"I clearly remember telling you I was going to walk you to your door."

Beckett sighs, presses her fingertips to her forehead, but to his surprise, doesn't push him back into the car. "Oh, _fine_."

He beams and tags along at her heels, following her into the building, into the elevator, to her door. She starts digging through her pocket one-handed, and he takes the opportunity to shuffle even closer.

She finally pulls out her key ring, but flinches as she looks up to find him way, way closer than she ever allows him to be without doing him serious bodily harm. She recoils, visibly alarmed. "Okay. This is too close."

"I'm pretty sure I have to kiss you goodnight."

Her eyebrows go up, but then she sees he's serious. "No."

"You fumbled getting your keys," he points out. "That is the international sign for 'Please Kiss Me.'"

"No, it's the international sign for 'I Can't Remember Which Pocket I Put My Keys In.'"

"Oh, Beckett. Don't be shy." She's glaring at him, but there's just enough mirth in the back of her eyes that he doesn't mind, even though one of these days she really might snap and twist his ear right off his head. "It's okay to say you want it."

"Castle." There's a note of warning in her voice.

"It's required."

"_Castle_." It now sounds more like a threat.

"Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

"_No_."

"But – "

His next words never make it out, because she drags him closer by his tie and kisses him.

His heart stutters to a halt, because Kate Beckett is kissing him, her mouth warm and teasing. Her hand slides behind his shoulder, her soft, slender fingers toying lazily with the hair on the nape of his neck, sending tingles through his skin. Her tongue slides easily over the line of his lips, prodding them gently apart, and holy _shit,_ her _tongue_ is in his _mouth_ and right now he wants nothing more than to push her up against the wall and slide his hands under that sweater and –

She pulls back without warning, leaving him blinking owlishly. He stares, trying to form words, a phrase, an interjection, _something_, but only comes up with "Uh – "

She just smirks, an evil little grin. She's pleased with herself. He doesn't think he's ever been so effectively shut up in his life. He tries to say something, but she presses a finger to his lips. "Shhh." He freezes, mesmerized by the warmth of her skin and the way her hair curls around her face and the limpid, dancing mischief in her eyes.

"Goodnight, Castle."

Her bedroom voice. Soft and breathy and low and _oh, Kate_ – she needs to not do this anymore. He'll never be able to function.

…Well, no. She needs to do this every day.

The door shuts behind her laughing face, and he stands there staring at it for a few seconds before he remembers that the cab is still waiting for him downstairs.

He's got an idiot grin on his face for the entire ride home because she kissed him. She actually kissed him goodnight. Oh God, did she do it well. And as he walks back into his building, heading for the elevator, his phone buzzes.

_Not the worst date I've ever had. See you tomorrow._


	16. 2x03, Inventing The Girl

Chapter 15.5 was published separately; it is an M-rated take on _To Love & Die In LA_. If you are of age, you can find it under my profile as _Kiss Me, Castle: LA_.

Thanks to wonderful reader **yellowbrickrd** for the plot idea for this chapter. It is rated R-ish for strong language. Be thou forewarned.

This is a post-ep; near the end of the episode, Castle figures out that Beckett's upset about not getting to read _Heat Wave_ before the reporters. He promises to give her a copy. We pick up that evening, after Kate goes home.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: 2x03, Inventing the Girl<strong>

"Delivery for Beckett, Kate."

Kate sighs, rolling her eyes as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel and pads barefoot through her living room. Even if the voice weren't recognizable through her front door, there's still the simple fact that she's drying dishes and doesn't want Castle around right now. So naturally, it can't be anyone else.

She opens the door to find Castle grinning, practically bouncing on his feet, hands behind his back.

"What do you want, Castle?"

"And a lovely evening to you too, Detective." He strides in without an invitation – though is it really so surprising? – and she sighs heavily, shutting the door. Apparently he's not leaving.

"Is there a reason you're here, or is it just to bother me?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Are they mutually exclusive?" She shoots him a baleful look, and he holds up a pacifying hand. "OK. No. For me they're not. But I really have a purpose. Here."

From behind his back, he produces a book. Kate feels a sudden giddy rush of excitement. _Heat Wave_. This is the real thing. A book about her, by her favorite author. Wow.

She takes the book slowly, tracing her fingers over the lettering, about to speak, but when she glances back at him, she stops. His grin is just a touch too wide. His eyes are dancing just a little too much. And he's projecting an overwhelming sense of innocence. She does not trust him. Not a bit.

She narrows her eyes. "What's going on, Castle?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all, Detective," he assures her with just a dash too much sincerity to actually be sincere. "Just fulfilling my ongoing mission to provide you with quality literature."

Kate scowls. Looks back down at the book in her hands. _Why?_ All she wanted tonight was to finish the mountain of dishes in her sink and take a bath. She's tired. She's cranky. And she has no idea what he's done. But he has obviously done something.

Castle can't hide his amusement, and he wiggles his eyebrows a little. "Come on. You'll love it. I promise."

Maybe if she opens it, he'll leave. And then she won't have to deal with him anymore. Won't have to stare at that scruffy five-o'clock shadow and that unbuttoned collar and tell herself he's not attractive.

She takes a long look at the little twist of a grin on his lips (and they are _not_ kissable, they are _not_) and she finally decides to go with it. She pulls off the glossy dust jacket – which, she can see now, is slightly larger than the book it's covering – to reveal, not _Heat Wave,_ but something with a cover featuring a wasp-waisted little blonde bursting out of her corset in the arms of an overly-muscular Fabio-wannabe with his shirt undone. The title is _Lady Katherine's Forbidden Desires._

No.

She glares at him. "You're an ass."

"You were complaining you didn't have a good book to read," he shrugs, trying not to laugh at the deathglare she's fixed him with.

Suppressing the urge to growl, Kate opens the book, scanning the inside of the jacket. "'Lady Katherine is trapped in a loveless marriage, suffocated by the strictures of society. Then one day she meets the commoner Reginald, who opens her eyes and reawakens the passions she's almost forgotten. Can she overcome her scruples and find the strength to renew – ' Castle. I can't handle this. Get it away from me." She thrusts the book back at him, but he refuses to take it.

"Oh, no, Beckett. I wouldn't take it away. After all, it's _yours_ now."

"I don't want it."

"It is a wonderful book," he insists, his eyes wide and earnest and far too innocent. "It's the story of a noble protagonist who develops strength by exercising agency in the face of forces that constrain her."

"It's a sex book."

"Oh, it's so much more than th- _agghhh!_ Ow!" She removes her fingernails from his ear, and he clutches at it, grimacing in pain. "Those things are _weapons_."

"Give me _one_ reason not to throw you out on your ass."

"I brought you a book?" he offers cautiously.

"I am going to hurt you."

"Does it make you uncomfortable? Is that it? I mean, it's such a racy, passionate book. I'd hate to think those dirty passages might make you blush." Castle grins cheekily. She narrows her eyes. Fine. He wants to give her this crappy excuse for a book to try to fluster her?

Two can play at this game.

Castle has wandered into her kitchen – again without asking, though it doesn't surprise her – and to his credit, he picks up the dishtowel she'd dropped and continues wiping plates. Maybe he thinks he can win her over with housework.

Not a chance.

She opens the book and flicks through it quickly, scanning the pages until she sees the words "ardent," "feverish" and "passion." That's what she's looking for.

"'Lady Katherine shuddered with barely-repressed passion as her strong, dashing lover barred the barn door and turned back to her with burning lust in his eyes.'"

"What the hell?" He drops the towel on the counter, narrowly avoiding dropping a dish, and turns around with a shocked expression.

"You gave me this stupid book. I'm just reading it," she returns, eyes wide with mock innocence. "What's wrong, Castle? Too 'racy' and 'passionate' for your virgin ears?"

Castle glares at her but doesn't reply. So, naturally, she keeps reading.

"'Desire sang through her body as Reginald threw her roughly down into the hay, the fabric of her gown sinking around her. "Oh, I am going to feast upon your tender body, Lady Katherine," Reginald growled, lowering himself onto her.'" _Wow. This book is crap._

She briefly glances up to see if he's laughing. But…Castle's face is frozen, his eyes darting up to hers nervously. No way. There is no _way_ this is embarrassing Rick Castle, signer of women's chests.

She drops her voice, lets the sarcasm go, and opts for her sex voice, the softer, husky tone she uses when she wants to mess with him. No edge. All silk. Castle _never_ ignores her when she uses this voice. "' – her breasts heaved against the tight constraints of her gown. He ripped the laces of her corset, the garment falling free, revealing her flush, heaving bosom to his hungry gaze.'"

Castle presses his lips together, avoiding her eyes.

"'Their bodies pressed together like waves, and Katherine let out a moan of unbridled passion at the feel of his hardness pressed against the tender cradle of her pliant body.'"

"Beckett – "

"'Lust unfurled its wings, a ribbon uniting them. Katherine sighed with pleasure as she tore open his trousers, revealing the full length of Reginald's quivering member, hot and solid – '"

"Kate – "

His voice is low, a note of warning threaded through its rich undertones. She looks up – he doesn't use her given name very often – and a rush of heat swirls through her veins. Castle's staring at her. His throat bobs as he swallows. Oh. _Oh_.

_How far can I go_?

She ignores the steady hum of tension glowing in her veins, because it's not this smutty book. She's never seen Castle like this before. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and he looks like he's about half a breath away from tearing her clothes off. Her face gets hot. She's beyond pretending she's not turned on right now. She likes Castle like this.

She doesn't stop.

"' – she slid her hand over his throbbing manhood – '"

A low hum vibrates through his chest, just barely enough that she can hear it. "Kate, you need to stop." His voice is strangled.

"Does that turn you on, Castle?"

"Kate." His teeth are gritted. He tries to turn away, but she doesn't back down.

"Do you like it when I talk dirty?"

He gulps, doesn't answer, but when he drags his eyes back up to hers, the answer is obvious. She licks her lips, leaning into him, breathing in the scent of his skin, the heat radiating off him in waves. The tendons in his neck are taut, his pulse pounding. She wants to run her tongue over it, taste his skin, make him groan under her. She can. She knows it wouldn't be difficult.

She presses her chest against his, feeling the shudder that rolls through his body, the quick rise and fall of his ragged breathing. She leans in until her mouth is just half a breath from his ear.

"_Fuck._"

She lets her voice break, putting air behind the _f_ and drawing it out, letting the _k_ get sharp and percussive. He lets out a low noise, somewhere between a groan and a growl, his throat catching. He's still clutching the kitchen counter behind him, his knuckles white. He's holding on. Desperately.

_I can _ruin_ you, Richard Castle_.

Kate slides her hands over his chest, pressing her fingertips into the firm muscles. She flicks a glance up through the fringe of her eyelashes, catching her breath at the heated desperation in his face. She curls her hands around his shoulders, threading her slim fingers through the silky short hairs at the nape of his neck, and tugs him closer, stretching on her toes to reach him better. She (_accidentally_) presses up against him, letting her lower body slide roughly over his, sending sparks of heat through her skin. He lets out a strangled breath. He's hot when he's aroused. Really, really hot. And oh, does she want to wreck him. She wants to drive him crazy. She wants him to let go of that tightly wound control and get rough.

She nuzzles him gently, smiling at the shudder she feels running under his skin. Time for the full effect. She drops her breath support, lets all the edge drop out of her words, and sinks into her full bedroom voice. The voice that says _Let's get naked. _The voice she knows he can't resist.

"Oh, _fuck_, Castle – "

Before she even finishes his name, his mouth is on hers, his hands sliding eagerly under her shirt. He growls into her mouth, his tongue pressing hot and slick against hers. She whimpers softly, letting him tug at her hips, pulling her firmly into his body. She winds her arms around his neck, and he trails kisses down the line of her throat. His tongue slides over her skin and she gasps, her fingers clenching as he slides his hands over the curve of her ass and his knee settles between her legs. She rolls her hips against his, grinding her lower body into him, letting out a breathy moan as the strong muscles in his thigh rub roughly against her core, flooding heat through her bloodstream.

"You dirty, filthy woman," he growls, sliding his tongue over the seam of her lips. She hums against his mouth, sliding a hand inside his shirt, feeling the hitch and tense of his muscles under her fingertips.

She smiles against his lips, briefly pulling away long enough for him to tug her t-shirt over her head. His hands trail over her newly bared skin, light, teasing, skimming over the flush of her breasts. Even through the fabric of her bra, the touch is electric, and she shivers against him, her mouth dry.

She's about to grab his hand, tug him to the couch – she's way too worked up to stop now, and they're not going to make it all the way to her bed – but suddenly he grips her waist, spins her around, and before she can react, he's shoving her up onto the counter and his hands are on her waistband, nimbly unbuttoning her jeans. She shivers as his hands make contact with her skin. No _way_. No way this is happening. They're actually going to – up against her kitchen counter –

He gets a hand down the front of her jeans, and she gasps, arching into him involuntarily.

_Fuck it_.

"What did you think we were doing, Kate?" he grins, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Are you going to ravish me right here, Castle?"

He captures her mouth again and she shivers, arching against him as his fingers drag up her spine, pressing into her bare skin.

"I'm going to make you _scream_, Lady Katherine."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> If you could even understand how uncomfortable I was writing those excerpts of _Lady Katherine's Forbidden Desires_. Ugh. I _cringed_. Many thanks to Cartographical for patiently cheering me on until the stupid thing was done. And good riddance. And points to anyone who catches the movie reference.

Also, unrelated: a tiny part of me thinks the reason Richard Rodgers changed his name to Castle was in honor of Johnny Castle. I think maybe, deep down, Castle has always been a little bit Crazy For Swayze.

That is all.


	17. 3x13, Knockdown

Though it stems from episode 3-13, this scene itself is set at some point in season 4.

Cartographical, my pet, you are wonderful.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: 3x13, Knockdown<strong>

_Thank you. For having my back in there._

Other than Ryan and Esposito sending a few unusually inquisitive looks at them, Castle notices that today has been relatively quiet. Beckett checks in with Gates, leaving him at her desk ("You know, Castle, honestly, she _really_ doesn't like you."), and he tweets a few pictures of geckos to his followers, waiting for Beckett to eventually return from the breakroom with her coffee, take her seat, and continue pretending she doesn't know he's staring at her while she clears her email inbox.

He hears footsteps, but it's not her. "Castle. Bro. Walk with me."

"Well – I – Beckett's – " Castle gestures vaguely towards the breakroom, trying to indicate his belief that he's currently assigned to his seat and expected to stay where he is.

"Seriously. Try to have some balls, man. I'll get you back to your babysitter."

"Uh – okay." Castle shrugs but follows. Esposito leads silently, nodding terse hellos to the officers he passes. He doesn't say anything. Castle has a vaguely bad feeling about this. He can't pin down anything specific. But the back of Esposito's neck looks highly serious. He wonders if maybe he should have insisted on waiting for Beckett. Beckett protects him.

They end up in the conference room. Castle turns to ask what's up, but before he gets out a word, Esposito claps a hand on his shoulder, yanks him down into a chair, and shuts the door behind them.

"I think we need to have a little talk, Mr. Castle."

_Mr. Castle?_ Seriously? Are they playing CIA and someone forgot to tell him? "What?"

"I have a few questions about your behavior towards Detective Beckett."

"_What?"_

"Cut the crap, Castle. I know you kissed her."

"What? How?" No way. No way in hell he could know –

"Actually, you just told me." _Damn_ it. Walked into that one. Castle growls at himself mentally. Esposito shrugs. "And you know, when we don't have an active case, Gates has us organizing old files. Ryan and I have been doing that all morning. Checked through some stuff from last year. And we just happened to read Vince Tagliaferro's statement. You know. Guard. Worked with Lockwood."

Guard…Lockwood…

Oh.

_That's_ how they found out.

"I won't bore you with details, Castle, but let me just tell you, the man was extremely eloquent about the 'big guy and the hot drunk chick' and the amount of saliva that was exchanged before he mysteriously blacked out and woke up in handcuffs."

Castle glares at Esposito, whose expression never changes. This is _not_ good. And where the hell is Beckett? Why isn't she here? _She _makes decisions. "Alright. Fine. It's true."

"So you kissed her and then what? Pretended it never happened?"

"No! It's not like that!"

"You trying to put the moves on her?"

"We were trying to distract the guard! To save your lives, I might add." Castle glares.

But Esposito doesn't back down. "Sure, bro. Right. You work with Beckett, smokin'-hot cop. You follow her around for years, write sex scenes about her, and you want me to think sucking face with her just _happens_ to be the first thing that jumps into your brain? Especially when you _know_ she can't stop you?"

"I wasn't _using_ her, Esposito." Castle glares. How could he possibly _think_ –

"Yeah. I certainly hope you weren't," Esposito replies, folding his arms, his face dark. Castle's heart sinks.

_Beckett. Please come save me._

* * *

><p>Beckett's looking through the break room cabinets, eyeing a few types of coffee creamer (hazelnut is sounding good today) when she's uncomfortably aware of Ryan standing nearby, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching her patiently. Not getting coffee. Not saying anything. Just waiting.<p>

She has a bad feeling about this.

"Something you need?" she asks, pulling down the hazelnut flavor and fishing out a clean-ish looking spoon. Good enough, she decides. She rinses it off just to be safe.

"Nah, just wanted to ask how you're doing."

"How I'm _doing?_" She quirks an eyebrow. "Seriously. What's going on?"

Ryan shrugs. "Ah, nothing. I just – Esposito and I were wondering something."

"Wondering what?" Ryan is unusually slow today.

"Well – see, remember when Lockwood had the two of us captured? And you and Castle managed to get past that guard outside?" He still looks innocent. Too innocent.

Kate stops. Sets her coffee down.

She turns around and fixes him with her steeliest look. "What's this about, Ryan?" He sputters but doesn't answer. Her eyes narrow. "Where's Esposito? Where's Castle?"

Ryan stays silent, but then she understands and she's out the door.

* * *

><p>It only takes her a moment to find Esposito and Castle glaring at each other in the conference room. Ryan tags along, trying to get her to stop ("Beckett, wait. I can explain – "), but she forces the door open and storms in. From the look on Castle's face, it's exactly what she thought it was.<p>

She folds her arms. "Cut the crap, guys. Just say it."

Esposito and Ryan glance at each other, mutter a little, and finally Esposito nods. Ryan clears his throat. "Ah, Beckett. Esposito and I read Vince Tagliaferro's statement this morning."

Her heart sinks. She knows that name. And she knows exactly what's in that report. She looks at Castle, who's watching her with a quiet, set expression. But something's off. He looks shaken. Like Esposito's said something that really upset him.

She sighs, because there's really no way around this. "Okay. You guys know."

"You two kissed."

Something flutters in her chest (she still hasn't gotten used to thinking of it so matter-of-factly), but she resolutely keeps her face impassive. Hopefully if she downplays it, they'll lose interest. "Yes."

"You never said anything before. Why'd you hide it?" Esposito cuts in suspiciously.

Castle's still not saying anything, obviously letting her take the lead. He still looks bothered. She'll ask him about it later, after Chip and Dale here have finished this ridiculous interrogation. "Because we knew you'd make a big deal about it. It wasn't real, guys. Castle kissed me to distract the guard. That's all that happened."

Ryan narrows his eyes. "That's all? One kiss, and nothing else?"

"Yes." In the corner of her eye, she sees Castle nodding in agreement.

Ryan and Esposito look at each other for a second, and then they turn back to Beckett, having obviously decided to ignore the surprisingly silent Castle. Ryan lets out an awkward cough before saying, "Yeahhhh…we kinda don't believe you."

"What do you mean?"

Esposito snorts. "Come on. You two? Seriously? You can't tell me it's nothing."

"Sorry to disappoint you, guys. But there's no story here." She tugs Castle's elbow, and he stands up. "And this little interrogation? It's over."

She and Castle leave the guys in the conference room, and she makes a quick detour to go reclaim the coffee she left in the breakroom before returning to her desk. Castle joins her. He sits, puts his hands in his lap, and just generally looks so chastened that she's genuinely worried. "Castle, are you okay? I'm sorry the boys decided to pull this stupid prank, but if Esposito said something to you – "

"He accused me of using you." His voice is so quiet she almost doesn't catch the words. Her eyes get wide, her mouth falling open in surprise. "Said I took advantage of the situation, took advantage of you."

Kate blinks. Oh. Her stomach sinks. "He doesn't really think that. He was just playing bad cop."

"I know."

She twists a pen in her hands. If Esposito decided to try the full-scale 'little brother' routine, she has a feeling there was more involved than just glaring. "What did he threaten to do to you?"

That gets a brief, wry almost-smile. "It wasn't so much _him_. More like every guy in this building." (The brotherhood. It never fails. Esposito's threat isn't entirely idle, either.)

"You know he was wrong, Castle. _I_ know. I know that's not what you did." It's not who he is. She knows that. That kiss – she's not going to say it was overdue, but – well –

He shrugs. "It bugged me. That he could even say it."

"I'm sorry." It tugs at the pit of her chest, twisting the space around her heart. Because that dark, desperate night, with wind stinging her cheeks and the flush of adrenaline curling through her veins, there was a moment, just a fraction of a moment when he grabbed her and she saw the intent in his face, knew what he was about to do – and the notion flitted through her mind. _He's doing this on purpose_.

It vanished, along with most rational thought, the moment his body and his mouth pressed against hers. But now, seeing the gloom in his eyes, Kate feels the sudden overwhelming need to reassure him. To tell him he didn't push her. She almost – _almost_ – reaches for his hand, but she catches herself, taking a breath. "Castle. You did the right thing. You caught me by surprise, yeah. But you did right. I've never been angry with you about it. Don't let some idiot detective tell you otherwise."

A half smile graces his lips – the lips she's kissed pretty damn thoroughly, though she suppresses _that_ thought as soon as it appears – and though there's a long pause, she knows it's all right.

When he finally speaks, it's not what she's expecting. "You lied."

She blinks. "What? No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." His voice gets lower, softer, that gravelly tone. It's too intimate. She swallows hard, has to stop herself from crossing her legs. "You told them about 'the kiss.' We both know there was a second one."

The flush, the sudden tactile memory of his lip under her teeth, rises up unbidden in her mind. She blushes hotly and has to look away. And for the first time maybe ever, he takes the hint, falls silent. She tells herself not to look at him, a resolve that lasts several seconds.

The rest of the afternoon is a nightmare. They have no open case, so she has no investigation, no murderboard to occupy her mind. Just Castle. Sitting patiently in his chair. A visual reminder of that specific memory she's been suppressing for a year. And now it's looping non-stop through her mind and under her skin and she has no idea how to stop it.

She has to stop looking at him, because she always misses his eyes and somehow ends up at his mouth, and that's bad because she can't help herself and she keeps remembering the way he grabbed her and his fingers on her neck and that hungry look in his eyes and the sudden shock of his mouth on hers and then his tongue and it makes her think about dragging him into the empty observation room and locking the door and feverish hands and fumbling with buttons and zippers and hot skin and writhing and oh God oh _God_ don't stop –

- and it's all too vivid and if she doesn't stop right now she's going to do something so very, very stupid.

* * *

><p>She's not going to offer to drive him home. Kate has spent entirely too much time around Castle today, and the heat pulsing through her veins every time she catches herself daydreaming about all the deserted places in the precinct they could slip into and shut the door behind them has fully convinced her that she is not stable enough to spend any more time alone with him right now. Tomorrow she'll get it under control. She's not going to give him a ride home tonight. Everything will be –<p>

"Hey, uh, could I get a ride home?"

"Sure."

She swears mentally at her idiotic reflex, but it's too late to back out now, with him following quietly at her heels.

He says nothing as they take the elevator downstairs, though she sees him glancing at her in her periphery. She's terribly aware of him, sees every motion, every quick breath. His movements are quicker than usual. A little jerky. His breathing is shallow. The realization makes heat flutter through her skin. She needs to stop looking at him.

She resolutely doesn't look at him on the way into the parking garage. Ignores the tingle sweeping from the crown of her head through her body. Pretends she hasn't been thinking about _it_ for hours. The garage is deserted – she's often one of the last to leave – giving her no witnesses to save her from herself. She swears the universe is conspiring to ruin her today.

What really scares her is that it's working.

Kate grits her teeth. Twenty seconds to get to the car, fifteen minute drive to his place. She can handle this. Everything was fine before the guys went on their misguided quest for information. She's fine. She's managed a year without kissing him again. She can manage tonight.

Until his footsteps get closer. No. This isn't supposed to happen. He's supposed to give her space. She swallows. All he has to do –

"Kate."

She knows. She knows exactly what he's going to do. She doesn't stop him.

She takes in a breath, reaching for her car keys, but it's not even a surprise when she feels the hand on her arm. He turns her around, and her throat tightens around all the words she could possibly say right now, and he's so terribly gentle as he settles her back against the car. And then her eyes are shutting and his body is pressing against her so warm and perfect. And then he's kissing her and she can't breathe.

Her lips open under the firm glide of his tongue, and he's demanding and pleading and seductive all at once. His hands tangle in her hair, turning her face towards his, giving him more access to her mouth. Kate can't think, can't move. He's slow, deliberate, relentless as he devours her, and his kiss is overwhelming and perfect and consuming and sweetly, painfully inevitable.

A heavy wave of weakness settles in her limbs, and she finds herself limp, spineless, clinging to him, whimpering softly as her sucks at her lips and his hands cradle her face, his thumb sliding over the curve of her jaw, and if this is what it's like to kiss him (for no reason other than she absolutely _needs_ his mouth working over hers like he's the last breath of oxygen she has in the world) then she has no idea why they haven't done this every day since the first time her tongue was in his mouth.

He finally lets her go, and Kate actually stumbles a little, her hands clutching instinctively at his arms. Holy _shit_.

"I think – " she swallows – "I think maybe that's why we never talked about it."

Castle lets out a noise that seems to be agreement. His eyes are still a little glazed. His breath is coming fast and hard, his chest pressed against hers, and she can't stop her head from resting on his shoulder.

They shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't –

(_I love you. I love you, Kate._)

She squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden memory, that echo in her mind of the last thing she heard before everything went dark. It's too much. It's all too much.

His hand slides tentatively over the line of her back, like he's afraid she's going to push him away, but she doesn't. And then it hits her in a blinding flash of clarity: he already loved her. When he kissed her that first time, he was already in love. He said the words only a few months later. But she'd already seen the look in his eyes that he was never quite able to hide.

The realization that their first kiss was a farce, a distraction, a hasty, unplanned mess for someone else's benefit, casts a shadow over her heart, knotting it, putting a tightness in her chest. She's cautiously optimistic when it comes to the two of them. And somehow she needs it to have started better than that. She needs their story to begin with _them_ if it's ever going to work.

His hand comes to rest on her shoulder, rubbing gentle circles, and the touch is warm and reassuring and perfect, even through her heavy jacket, and it's so utterly distracting she almost doesn't hear him speak. "What now?"

She shuts her eyes. "I don't know."

The drive to his loft is quiet. She's not sure what to say. She's not sure exactly how she's feeling. She's not sure about a lot of things right now.

Outside his building, under the hazy golden glow of the streetlamps, she pulls to the curb and puts the car in park. She traces the curve of the steering wheel, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to figure out what kind of goodnight could adequately express the confusing muddle of thoughts bouncing off the corners of her mind right now. It's an unbalanced, formless, bubbling swirl of fear and hope and love and shyness and desire and _someday_ and _thank you_.

She turns to find Castle unfastening his seatbelt slowly. Like he's in no rush to leave. He glances up, and her breath hitches because the way he's looking at her, the longing in his face, the darkness in his eyes, she knows. She knows exactly what he wants. Knows exactly how he feels.

And before she can stop herself, she leans across the front seat, puts a hand to his cheek, and kisses him gently on the lips.

It's soft and delicate, and he kisses her back so tenderly her chest aches and her eyes sting and her blood sings and her skin vibrates and she is so overwhelmingly in love that she's never, ever going to recover. And she's terrified.

She ends the kiss, but he doesn't move away. "I'm going to kiss you every chance you give me, Kate," he murmurs, his breath skating over her cheek. She sighs shakily, her eyes fluttering. "Every chance."

He brushes his lips softly over hers one last time before opening the passenger's door and stepping out of the car. The golden half-light falls onto his face, lighting up the lines of his cheekbones and jaw, shadowing his eyes, and Kate's fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

(_I love you._)

She's not sure whose voice is saying it in her mind now. Once it was just his. Now maybe it's hers.

"Good night, Kate."

He moves to shut the car door, and she suddenly needs to answer. Needs him to understand. She has to try. The words well up in her mouth, bright and awkward and effervescent and unplanned. But right.

"Till tomorrow, Castle."


	18. 2x16, Mistress Always Spanks Twice

Were you looking for Lady Irena's House Of Pain? I'm sorry, that's next door. This is Lady Cora's House Of Face-Sucking Fic. Much more pleasant.

Now, just remember, I never claimed that any of this fic would be remotely realistic.

Cartographical, as always, you bedazzle my world.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18: 2x16, The Mistress Always Spanks Twice<strong>

_There is one hot, wild, kinky thing that I _do_ like doing…  
><em>

"What's the matter, Castle? You afraid of a little…role-play?" She stalks off, laughing at him, and it's so normal for her that he's not even surprised at this point.

"Yeah, you better run." He puffs out his chest in a display of manliness which is completely lost because she's already walking away. No, no no no. Richard Castle does not come in second place in a contest of verbal sexual harassment.

He hurries to follow her; she's set her coffee down and is heading for the elevator. Fine. She wants to drag him into a potentially mortifying sexual experience? Okay. He can dish it out too.

"I guess we like it rough, then."

"What?" She starts, pausing, her eyes flicking back at him in confusion as they wait for the elevator.

"You started this charade, Beckett. I'm just trying to get into character." She glares, but it doesn't bother him. She's even more adorable when she glares. "I'm your boyfriend. Your _naughty_ boyfriend, right?"

"Don't get excited, Castle," she tosses at him, her eyes scornful.

"It's all in the interest of saving our fair city," he assures her. This is fun. "I've been a very bad boy. I wonder what I did?" She doesn't dignify that with an answer, which doesn't surprise him. He's discovered that as long as she doesn't inflict bodily harm on him, he can talk as much as he wants. Bodily harm is her way of saying _shut up_. "It was obviously something sexual. Maybe I made you embarrassed. Are you shy about our sex life?"

(Her cheeks are getting pink. Ah, there it is. He's got her off-balance now.)

(But oh God, saying the words _our sex life_ to Kate Beckett…)

"Maybe you let me tie you up."

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide, and her mouth drops but she doesn't say anything, a wave of red coloring her face. Hm. That struck a chord, did it? Has she been thinking dirty things? Oh, he likes that. He really, really likes that.

Obviously, he needs to go further. They step into the elevator, and thanks to the privacy, he decides to see just how far she'll let him go before she maims him.

"Maybe we did it last night. Maybe I tied you to the bed." She's trying to ignore him. Trying very hard. But there's a blush creeping up her neck, and she stabs the button for ground floor with more force than necessary. "And I took my time. I definitely didn't hurry. I'm a very patient man, you know. And I made sure you spent _hours_ begging me, moaning my name, until I finally put my mouth on your – "

" – Castle. Stop it." Her jaw is set, and he'd think it's just anger, if not for the shallow catch in her breathing, the faint wisp of air in her voice. Oh yeah. Game on.

"Oh, come on, Beckett. You're not afraid of a little…_role-play_, are you?" He cocks an eyebrow at her, because this is by far the most fun he's had this week. Flustering Beckett is as close as he's gotten to actually making her –

- well, it's fun.

(And maybe he's also having a little fun thinking about all the dirty things he could do to her, too.)

She grits her teeth, and he can see the tremor that runs through her, the breath she takes to try and steady herself. "Stop being a child."

"I don't think that's what's bothering you, Kate." He says it in a low, husky voice and chances her given name. It works. She swallows, and he watches, fascinated, as the delicate lines of her throat ripple, the fine muscles working, the smooth column of her neck –

This doesn't make sense. Isn't this exactly what she's been teasing him about? She's remarkably self-possessed when it comes to talking about sex, he's discovering. Why is it suddenly so easy to fluster her?

But then suddenly her eyes flick down to his mouth, lingering there for a second. Castle sucks in a breath. Nnnnnnnngh. This is getting out of hand. He just meant to get _her_ worked up. But he feels an unmistakable surge of hot interest in his body, because oh, the thought of tying her to his bed and actually putting his mouth on her –

He swallows. _Calm it down, Rick. Don't let her win_.

He follows her out of the elevator and into the parking garage, and maybe it's just his imagination, but is she walking more briskly than usual? Like she's trying to get away from him? Like _that's_ ever worked.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? I can stop if you're getting flustered."

She shoots him a venomous look that suggests he will soon be on the receiving end of unparalleled physical violence. But, well, technically she's not _actually_ telling him to stop. He chooses to interpret the lack of her shooting him as acquiescence, and follows as she heads for the car.

"We'd never tried it before. But last night, there was something different. At first it didn't even look like we were going to make it to the bedroom." He has a feeling there's a wild, sexy side to Kate. And _oh_ does he want to see it. "We were fooling around, and it was getting pretty heated. And then you stopped me, leaned in, and whispered, _I've been naughty, Rick_." (_Damn_, he can actually imagine the words, her soft, sensual voice, the sexy mischief in her eyes.) "You pulled me into the bedroom, and you told me to – "

"Castle. Stop. Stop talking." Her face is scarlet as she pulls out her keys.

"Oh, I did," he says, giving her what even he can only describe as a leer. _Damn,_ is he enjoying this. "I let you do all the talking. You had to tell me exactly what to do, exactly where to touch you. How fast you wanted it. How hard." He can see the quick rise and fall of her chest, the hot blush on her face. He doesn't stop. "You wanted it slow at first. But then it got faster. You like it rough. Really rough. The neighbors complained."

Shit. Shit, he has to stop. But it's already too late. His vivid imagination is already seared with the pictures he's painting for her. He sees the dimly-lit bedroom. Kate tied to the bedposts, her eyes locking with his as he moves over her. The hitch of her slender body as she tenses under his hands. The gasp that escapes her, the sudden strain as she tugs helplessly against the ties. The sinful moan that finally escapes her red lips. Her body goes rigid. Her eyes widen, her mouth falls open –

"Get in the damn car." It comes out as an irritated (aroused?) growl, and he hastens to obey, because there is something so unbearably sexy about bossy, angry Kate Beckett and the way she orders him around and he just – just _really_ wants to get bossed around in her bedroom. He does.

He slides into his seat and immediately turns to her. She slams her door shut with a little more force than usual, and there's energy running through her body, the faintest tremble in her hands, the heightened color in her cheeks.

He's got her.

"Do you like being tied up, Kate?"

She looks up at him through her lashes, biting her lip, and oh, she needs to stop doing that if he's going to ever get anything done. Ever again. His body is suddenly terribly, terribly aware of how close she is and how good she smells and how sexy she looks when she's teasing him. "You know what I like, Ricky."

He has to tell himself to calm down because there is not a chance in _hell_ that she will consent to –

But then her hand is on his neck and her tongue is in his mouth and _how is this happening? _Oh, _fuck_, they are in her car and they are _making out_ and his entire world is reduced to the corners of her mouth and the angry hot slick of her tongue and her silky hair under his fingers. The surge of arousal that flashes through his body is unmistakable. There's no way around it. He nips at her upper lip and she lets out a soft, high-pitched moan that goes right through him, because it comes straight out of this unlikely fantasy that is _happening _and it is so _hot_, steaming up the windows of this police car with Kate, that he's only half sure he's awake.

He's half-seriously considering just pulling her into his lap and letting her straddle him and seeing just how much of his story she's willing to try out right here. Because if she'll kiss him, right here, in the car, without being even _close_ to being drunk, then what else can they do? Is there more sex kitten in Kate Beckett than he'd thought?

"Do you really like it rough?" he murmurs, letting his hand slide a little too high up her thigh. Her eyebrow twitches playfully, and his breath catches, because he is _touching_ her in a sexual way and she is not killing him and he does not know what to do about all the horribly dirty things going through his mind right now (several of which would be _so_ much fun to do in this very car).

"That's for me to know."

He grins wolfishly and lets his hand drift over her hipbone in a way that can't possibly be construed as anything other than inappropriate.

"Kate. You _know_ I'm going to find out."


	19. 2x18, Boom

Because we all know there was so much more angst in this ep than what we were shown.

Carto, you are the rubber grippy on the mechanical pencil of my life.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: 2x18, Boom<strong>

_You're alive! - oh, and you're naked._

Castle takes a while to finish his tea, then rinses out the cups, tidies up the (already pretty tidy) kitchen. He's just taking it easy. He is _not_ listening to the sounds from upstairs. Not at all. Because it would be unbearably creepy to be mentally clocking the time she's taking in the shower and wondering if he should go check on her. So he's not doing it. He doesn't listen for the water shutting off, and he certainly isn't straining his ears to hear footsteps.

He makes his usual round of the downstairs, turning off lights (he leaves one on in the kitchen, just in case Beckett gets up during the night), checking the door, and he's about to go to bed himself when he sees her cell phone on the kitchen counter. He knows she keeps it by her bed, in the event she gets a call. She'll want it. Won't she?

He quietly climbs the stairs. Alexis' light is off, of course, it being a school night. Mother's out, so nothing from her room. The guest room is dark too.

He taps lightly at the door. No answer.

It's a dilemma. On the one hand, he can't help but think that this one piece of normalcy might be good for her; she's stuck in someone else's home, her world gone up in flames. This single link to her regular life seems important. On the other hand, the Kate Beckett he knows would almost certainly not want him walking into her bedroom. Ever.

He stands at the door, staring at the phone for a second, trying to decide what to do. Is she really asleep? Is she ignoring him? Does she think maybe he'll just go away?

That bloody cut on her forehead is suddenly at the front of his mind, and he's completely unprepared for the wave of rapid panic that chokes him. She seemed fine. But Rick Castle has spent enough time with Kate Beckett to recognize when she's bottling something up. She got _blown up_, for crying out loud. Did the paramedics _really_ check her? Beckett has that irritating tendency to downplay her own needs. She was so contained, so quiet earlier. What if she has a concussion? What if she's lying in his guest room, slowly slipping into a coma just because he was too stupid to insist –

He opens the door before he can finish the thought he can't stomach. He can deal with her yelling at him for walking into her bedroom. (He can deal with anything she does so long as she's around to do it.)

His eyes adjust slowly to the dark room, and in the soft light spilling in from the hallway behind him, he can see her sleeping peacefully. Her breathing is slow, but deep and steady. Something painful in his chest uncoils and dissolves, something that's been blocking his lungs since that horrible moment he watched a fireball engulf her home. She's okay. She's breathing. She's fine.

Beckett – no. Kate. Beckett is a cop. Kate is the woman sleeping in front of him. She looks younger. Gentler. The angles of her cheekbones are softer in the shadows. His gaze lingers on the delicate lines of her face, the sweep of her long eyelashes over her pale, porcelain skin. She's beautiful. He's known it since the day they met, of course. But it's hitting him in the gut right now. Maybe it's the play of light and shadows on her face. Maybe it's the dark scar on her temple, reminding him just how close she came to death. Maybe it's both.

He swallows hard to fight down the suddenly maudlin emotions threatening to make him cry like a girl. _She's _fine, _Rick. Stop staring. You're being creepy._

He reluctantly steps into the room, light spilling in from the open door behind him. She doesn't move. After everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, she desperately needs a good night's sleep. His protective instincts are going wild, since she's not awake to glare at him for it.

She's curled up on her side, one hand pillowed under her cheek. He edges carefully toward her, sits down gingerly on the side of the mattress. Her other hand twitches, but otherwise she doesn't move. Castle runs a careful hand down her arm, over the big (adorable) pink t-shirt, her soft skin. _Adorable_ was never a word he'd associated with her (well, maybe the way her face screws up when she's mad at him) until now.

Her breathing gets a little quicker, but surprisingly, she doesn't wake up. He expected her to be the type who opens her eyes and immediately springs from her bed. Of course, murder calls aren't usually announced with a gentle hand on the arm.

"Beckett? Beckett." He bites back the strange impulse to say _sweetheart_. She murmurs something unintelligible and turns her face into the pillow. It's so utterly adorable that he doesn't know what to do with himself. He smiles, rubs her arm a little harder. "Beckett."

She mumbles something again, but it's muffled. He leans over to hear it, rubs his thumb over her shoulder. It's new, and warm, and intoxicating, being this close to her. She smells like his soap and that might be the best thing that's happened all day. "You in there?"

She turns toward him, her eyes hazy, hooded, barely open, and before he can stop her, she curls a lazy hand around his neck, tugs him down to her mouth and kisses him.

He's too startled to do anything other than let her. It's not the most elegant kiss – she's half asleep and not really looking, and it's sloppy and weak and the angle is awkward and he has to brace himself on one arm so he doesn't crash into her – but it's Kate Beckett and it's her mouth on his and then her tongue slides briefly over his lip, almost like she doesn't know she's doing it, and he has to bite back a gasp and this is _officially_ the best kiss in the history of kissing.

Before he can really react (or kiss her back properly), she lets him go. She lets out a long breath that blooms over his face, curls back into herself. "Mmm."

"Beck- uh, Kate?" He thinks he can use her first name. Seeing as she just kissed him. Sort of.

She hums softly, low in her throat. "Mmmm. 'S nice."

"What?"

"Smell nice." She slurs the _s'_s a little. Her mouth turns up at the corners, just barely, a hint of a smile. He desperately wants to kiss the edges, the soft curves that frame her lips. He wants to kiss all of her mouth, again, and again and again.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." He brushes a gentle hand over the side of her cheek before he can stop himself. This softer Kate is – she's –

He takes a breath. He's not ready for that. Not right now.

"You left your phone downstairs." She blinks at him, her eyes slowly focusing, but she doesn't say anything. "You want an alarm?"

Her face screws up in soft sleepy confusion, the furthest thing possible from no-nonsense Beckett. "'Larm?"

"To wake up. In the morning."

"Um." She blinks a little, scrubs a hand over her face. "Uh. Six."

"Okay." He quickly sets the alarm and sets the phone on the nightstand. Kate's eyes are shut again, and her breathing has slowed. "Kate?"

"Mmm." Her eyes don't open.

"I'm so glad that you're okay." It doesn't even begin to express everything bubbling through his chest, the overwhelming flush of emotions he has no idea how to handle. But it's something.

Her eyelids flutter a little. "Love you too."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em> Since she was half-asleep and won't remember it in the morning, I (personally) choose to think that maybe this ACTUALLY DID happen.


	20. 3x17, Countdown

**Chapter 20: 3x17, Countdown**

_I just want you to know how much I l…_

Her voice trails off into silence, her hand slipping away from his face, away from him, and everything stops. Everything is failing. The air gets unbearably cold. His heart stops, a block of ice in his chest, choking him. _No. Kate, no. Please_.

"Kate, stay with me – Kate – " The words crack like ice from his lips. He reaches for her face, traces her jaw. But his hands are so cold. They're so cold he can barely feel them. And if he can't feel them, how can she?

She doesn't answer. Her eyelids don't flutter. He's choking. He's terrified. He needs her back. He needs to save her.

He turns her face towards his with fumbling, icy hands and kisses her before he can think too much. Maybe his mouth is warm. Maybe it can warm the air, wake up his sleeping beauty, spread his strength to her. His life.

He tries. Her lips are cool under his. She's too cold. He kisses her desperately. _Come on, Kate. Wake up. Yell at me. Slap me. Kiss me. Please wake up_. He remembers kissing her, remembers it being warm and frantic and scared and gorgeous. But now it's cold and dry and her lips are chapped and _Kate, this isn't right, this can't be it – _

She doesn't move, doesn't respond. Her forehead settles limply against his cheek. Her skin is cold.

Icy prickles are making his eyes go blurry. He blinks, or tries to, but the tears are freezing his lashes together. He fights to keep his eyes open. She needs him to stay. She needs him to be strong.

He _can't_ lose her.

He kisses her one last time, but he can't feel her mouth. She's there but he can't feel her.

There's nothing left.

It's over.

His mouth won't move anymore. So he says it silently.

_I love you._

_I'm sorry._

_At least you're not alone._


	21. 3x13, Knockdown, alternate ending

Plot idea for this one came from **yellowbrickrd**, inspired in turn by _The Big Bang Theory_. And as always, editing, enthusiasm and general all-around love came from my sweet, lamblike **cartographical**, who has put up with my endless whining and stamping my feet with the greatest of love. Also, if you have not read cartographical's "Bang," go read it now. Go. Then come back and read this. You will be glad.

This one is unconnected to chapter 17; same episode, but different take on it. It picks up post-episode, after the conversation in the back of the ambulance. And will maybe require some suspension of disbelief. Um, yeah.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21: 3x13, Knockdown 2.0<strong>

_Always._

She's still wound up from the night, adrenaline buzzing through her veins like quicksilver. It's mixed with a delicate curl of warmth that swirls through her whole body every time she looks back at Castle. _Castle_. Her irritating, boyish, well-meaning, stubborn, loyal, resourceful, life-saving partner.

(He's a good kisser, too. Not that she's dwelling on it.)

By the time they finish giving their statements, it's around 2:30 in the morning. She glances at Castle, who's sitting by her desk picking at the bandage on his hand.

"Castle?"

"Hmm?" He looks up, and in his eyes she can see the energy that probably mirrors her own, the buzz of chemicals swirling through her system.

"You tired?"

"Not – not really. Still kind of antsy."

She nods. "Want me to take you home?"

He thinks for a minute. "I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a drink, actually. I think we've both earned it."

Kate bites her lip, carefully ignoring the way his eyes immediately focus on her mouth. A drink sounds good. She's still mentally all over the place, and she knows she needs to relax if she's going to get any sleep. And…he saved her life tonight. She's feeling – something. Something good. She doesn't really want to dump him back at his place and leave. "That sounds nice. Any particular place you had in mind?"

"Well, I do know a good bar…" he trails off. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and there it is again, that flood of warmth in her veins that she's still not questioning.

* * *

><p>At the empty Old Haunt, Castle flicks on a few lights that bathe the bar in a smoky golden half-light. Kate settles herself at a table as he pulls out his keys and starts rummaging through the cabinets. She's relatively sure they're going to get comfortably drunk and pretend a certain thirty seconds in that alley never happened. And honestly, that's exactly what she wants right now. Her official statement, currently in investigative hands, merely says she and Castle acted their way inside. Which is true. She didn't feel the need to tell the grumpy old officer who took her statement any particular details about Castle's tongue or where it ended up.<p>

(Not that she's even thinking about it. Or his lips. Or any other part of his mouth. Really. She's not.)

"Aha! There it is."

Castle reappears from where he'd been rummaging through the cabinets, and Kate takes a closer look at the bottle he's brandishing. Of course. Red wine. His drink of choice in times of trial.

"What do you think?"

She's about to say yes, but – maybe it's not the best idea. Red wine is meant to be drunk on a couch, curled up by candlelight. Red wine is an aphrodisiac. It's a prelude to seductive glances, to vulnerable confessions and sitting too close together and accidental touches and timid half-kisses that get more confident and a lazy dance of tongues and hands sliding under clothing and moaning and –

She swallows. "Maybe not."

He shrugs, puts the bottle back. "What do you want, then? We've got our pick of the stock."

"What about tequila?" It's the first thing she can think of that isn't red wine. And it's not a bad idea. Tequila is fun. Tequila is fast and easy. It doesn't bring deep feelings bubbling to the surface.

(She is _not_ thinking about its consequences in _Heat Wave_.)

"Tequila? You want to drink tequila?" He blinks a little, but shrugs. "Okay. Any particular – "

"Just pull out the cheap stuff, Castle. We don't need Don Julio to get drunk."

He raises an eyebrow. "Katherine Beckett. Are you implying I keep liquor of poor quality in this establishment?"

"Do you?"

He grins. "Well – yeah. College students come in sometimes."

She lets him pull out the tequila, a saltshaker and a bowl of lime wedges. It's been a long time since she's done shots. This is actually kind of nice. And Castle saved her life tonight. She can drink with him.

* * *

><p>She sinks her teeth into the lime, her mouth watering at the sudden tart sweetness. A few drops of juice spill down her chin and she wipes them away with the back of her hand, pretending not to notice the way his eyes linger on her mouth as she does.<p>

There's a pleasantly soft heaviness settling into her arms and legs when she finishes her next shot, wrinkling her nose as it burns on the way down. "This is really crappy tequila, Castle. I'm impressed."

"You wound me," he huffs in mock-indignation, filling her glass again. She needs to be careful. Kate holds her alcohol well, but she doesn't want to end up staggering. The adrenaline in her system has sent her body a little haywire, and she doesn't really remember the last time she ate.

(The shiver running through her skin is wholly due to the adrenaline of the night's events. Certain parts of them. Only the parts she's admitting happened. She's completely positive of it.)

* * *

><p>She's impressed he's keeping up. She's drunk guys his size into submission before. Of course, Rick Castle is no slouch. And besides. This is <em>his<em> bar.

He won't let her do anything but drink ("Only a trained professional should be preparing drinks, Beckett." "You _have_ no training, Castle.") and she's enjoying watching his pouring get just the slightest bit sloppy. His eyes are still clear enough, so she's reasonably sure he's still doing fine. Though he has _no_ business looking at her like he is right now, like she's his and he knows it and this whole thing is a prelude to something dirty and raunchy and –

He's just buzzed enough to be clumsy, his hand wrapped in the bulky bandage, and he drops the saltshaker, spilling salt over his arm and the table.

The adrenaline is wearing off, warmth settling into her limbs, dark and liquid and slow. She's telling herself it's from the alcohol. Nothing else. But she can't stop staring at his arms. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, leaving his forearms bare, and she watches, fascinated by the subtle tensing of muscles under his skin. He's strong. She knows that. Seeing the brutal side of him – the side that would have killed the man who almost killed her – shook her. It's a new side of him. It's dark. It's – she doesn't know. It makes her chest flutter.

He's about to reach for a towel, wipe up the mess of salt, but suddenly she can't let him. She can't let him clean it up, brush it off like it never happened. The thought of simply sweeping away the mess gives her an inexplicably visceral reaction. Without thinking, she snags his hand, her fingers curling over the white bandage. She tugs it towards her, leans over, and licks the salt off his arm in one smooth motion.

His skin is sharp with salt and tang of sweat and her mouth is suddenly dry and it might not just be from the salt.

She knocks back the tequila to wet her throat. When she looks up, chancing a hesitant look through the dark curtain of her soft lashes, she meets his eyes to find him frozen. Castle is motionless, staring at her, mouth open in shock, like he has no idea how to respond to the fact that she just, of her own volition, licked his bare skin. Heat curls through her veins, tingling and weakening and as intoxicating as the alcohol.

(It's not the _best_ idea she's ever had.)

But then he holds up a lime, and before she thinks too hard, she snags his hand, holding it still, and bites into the fruit. His lips part, and his throat bobs as he swallows unevenly, watching her with dark eyes. Lime juice runs down his hand. She leans over and licks the trail running down his hand, her tongue swirling over his skin. She can feel his pulse thrumming hotly under his skin, the quick beating under the taut lines of his wrist.

He pulls her chair closer to his, his hands sliding to rest on her thighs as he sits on the front of his own chair, and it takes all her scant self-control right now to keep from pressing her legs together. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. His fingers press into her, hot and sure and so very wrong. But oh, _oh_, it feels so good, so terribly, terribly good, she just can't help herself.

His hand slides into her hair, his fingers tightening, and then his breath is on her cheek, hot and moist and too much, too much –

It doesn't really register what he's doing until he's tugging her shirt up and it's over her head. She raises her arms obediently, and it's not until the cool air raises goosebumps over her bare skin that she realizes she's not wearing a tank top.

She knows, distantly, that this is fast becoming a bad idea, a terrible idea, but the warmth has dulled her reasoning in favor of sheer sensation, and the delicate pressure of his fingers trailing up her bare arm leaves a trail of unbearable heat that makes her shiver and bite her lip. He needs to _stop_ looking at her, stop with that hungry gaze, the darkness in his eyes she can't handle because it means too much, way too much.

_Just – just don't look – it's not real – it's not_ –

Her eyes flutter shut and she holds her breath. Stupid, stupid idea, Kate. The sudden darkness makes her nerve endings sizzle, her skin awake and aware and terribly alive. She can feel him, the heat from his body burning over her bare skin, the rush of his breath making her weak. His hand slides over her shoulder, tugs her hair back, baring her neck, and she swallows hard.

There's a faint sting of salt on the skin of her neck, sending an unbearable tingle through her bloodstream, and she only has time to think _can we really do this?_ before his other hand settles on her waist, light and hot and sure.

His wet mouth hits her skin and she gasps, because this is _not_ good and they shouldn't –shouldn't –

He leans into her and she has to catch herself, falling back on her wrists on the table. Before she can react, Castle's settled between her legs, his chest pressing against hers, pushing her back down on the polished wood of the table. He braces himself, leans over her, and she has to stifle a moan as his tongue slides over the sensitive skin of her neck, the thin scrape of the salt mixing with the soft wetness of him until she's gasping, her chest heaving.

Cool liquid drips over her skin, her collarbone, and it takes her a second to realize it's tequila.

He's pouring tequila on her chest.

_Oh God_ –

A strangled breath escapes her as he starts sucking the alcohol off her skin. He's getting bolder, his hands sliding over her body, pushing her lower onto the table. She sinks back onto her elbows and then suddenly falters as his thigh presses hard against her. Her back arches involuntarily, crushing her chest against him, and as his hand slides up the line of her neck, his teeth scraping lightly at her skin, she feels unbearably hot, shaking, helpless under him as he sucks at her neck, a vampire drinking her in.

The tequila has warmed against her, the soft trickle of liquid painfully slow, streaming over her slick skin, sticky and spreading over her body. His tongue follows it, trailing down to her stomach. Her breath is coming fast and hard, her chest heaving as she clutches the edge of the table, tightens her knuckles to stop herself from reaching for him. They need to stop. They need to stop this right now.

But she's not cheating. It's not kissing. It's not on the mouth. They're just – oh _God_ – just – having a drink –

His tongue swirls over her navel and her eyes roll back in her head and she can't breathe and – and – he's not – not going to – is he? – no, he can't – he won't undo her belt –

She can't form a single coherent thought beyond the rough wet pressure of his tongue over her skin. Her fingers slide through his hair in spite of herself. She's not naked. They're not naked. They're not actually –

He pushes her all the way down so her back hits the smooth wood of the table, her head resting on its surface, and his mouth comes back to her shoulder, teeth nipping lightly at her skin.

Suddenly she needs to touch him. She needs to – she can't kiss him. She needs –

Kate tugs him closer, hooks her ankle around his leg, gasps at the sudden rough friction as his pelvis rocks into hers. She sucks on the taut line of his neck, feeling the sharp breath he draws in against her. Her fingers curl weakly against the nape of his neck, sliding along the line of his broad shoulders. His hips rock roughly into hers and she has to swallow a moan.

She tugs blindly at his shirt, her hands sliding over his skin, desperate to touch him (_anything but kissing_), aching for more. She gasps against his throat, her fingers tracing lightly over the subtle contour of his abdomen, the tapering of muscles disappearing under his waistband to his groin. He lets out a tortured groan, and his eyes flicker shut as he swallows.

Oh, it would be so easy. So very easy. He's as turned on as she is. She could just flip him over, straddle his waist, undo his belt, reach inside –

_- oh God._

_I have a _boyfriend.

_I can't do this._

She freezes, the horrible truth hitting her like icewater, like a tidalwave, so overwhelming that her hands start shaking uncontrollably. _No, no no no – _

She shoves him off of her, ignores the shock painted across his handsome face. She can't look at his mouth. Her cheeks burn, guilt swamping her, her head spinning with a wave of heat and alcohol and arousal and shame. The whole reason she consented to get drunk with him is because she's with someone else, someone safe. They've both been cheated on. They _both_ know better.

They shouldn't have done this.

She needs to get up, needs to get away from him, needs to (_shit)_ put her shirt back on over her sticky, sweaty skin, but she's so dizzy she can't move. She drops her head into her hands. _Fuck_.

"Kate – "

"Please. Castle." She won't look at him. She can't. She pulls herself off the table. Where's her shirt? She could have sworn it was –

"Here." He holds it out, and she snatches it with shaking hands, trying to pull it over her head. She's shaking and terrified and sticky and uncomfortable and sweaty, and she can't find the armholes, and it's sticking to her skin and she just needs to get _out_, get out of this mess, get out of this bar, get out of this seductive, dangerous atmosphere –

But then she feels his hands on her arms, untangling her sleeves, easing the collar of her shirt over her head and freeing her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders. Her eyes are stinging. He needs to stop. He needs to _stop_ being so gentle and sweet right after making her want to do things to him in the middle of an empty bar that she's horribly ashamed of. Because she's starting to sober up. But she still wants him.

"Kate –"

"Castle – I – I can't – "

"Kate, please – "

"I _can't_ – "

She can't give him a chance to persuade her. She grabs her coat and flees out the front door before he can stop her.

The sharp, cold night air helps clear her head. She pulls on her coat and sags limply against the brick wall behind her under the pooling light from the streetlamps. Oh. Oh, God. _What just happened?_

(She's never felt like that with Josh.)

A shadow falls over her, and she's not surprised. Of course he's here. His hands come to her shoulders, running over her arms. "Kate – "

She can't answer, can't move, knows she should stop him but doesn't as he leans in. She tenses, waiting for the inevitable –

- but he doesn't kiss her.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, and she sinks into his warmth, the softness of his shirt, dwarfed against the broad frame of his chest. His lips press a soft kiss to her temple and she's just drunk enough that her filter doesn't stop her from wishing, so very hard, that it could be this way.

But even as she leans into his touch, she knows it can't – can't –

"It's not okay, Castle."

He stills, his mouth still on her forehead, and finally he drops his hand, lets her go. "I know, Kate. I know."

They leave in opposite directions. Kate knows he's looking back. So she forces herself not to.

By the time she gets back to her place, she's sober enough to know that this isn't over.


	22. 2x24, A Deadly Game

Oh cartographical: you are the Nutella to my toast.

This episode gave me problems. I fixed them by changing one thing: in this version, Alexis IS going to the Hamptons for Memorial Day weekend (I mean, seriously, a high school summer program starting in May? I don't think so.). She'll head for Princeton afterwards.

This chapter starts right after that second day, when Beckett leaves the precinct with Demming after staring wistfully at Castle's empty chair because Esposito basically just told her Oh, BTW, Castle Is, Like, Pathetically In Love With You And That's Why He's Been Hanging Around For Two Years.

And you know, if you finish it within the next month, that's cool. It's a bit on the long side.

That's what she s-

Sorry. Moving on.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22: 2x24, A Deadly Game<strong>

_The guy's done enough research to write fifty books. _

Tom takes her to dinner at the little Italian place nearby. Kate picks at her food. She feels off. There's an uncomfortable tightness in her chest and a slow, dull throb in her head, and she doesn't really have an appetite.

After dinner, he's about to call a cab when she puts a hand on his arm. "Tom – look, can we call it a night? I'm not feeling so well."

He blinks in concern. "You okay? You were really quiet in there."

"Fine. I just want to go home and get some rest."

He lets her go because he's a nice guy. He's a really nice guy. Kate clenches her fists in her jacket pockets as she walks into her dreary little sublet alone. Tom's nice. Isn't he?

So _nice_.

* * *

><p>She pulls on comfortable clothes and curls up in front of the TV for a bit. She's half-asleep when she hears a knock at her door. She opens it to find someone she definitely wasn't expecting.<p>

"Alexis?"

The girl looks a little uncertain, her cheeks pink as she twists her hands. "Hi, Detective."

"Please, come in." Kate ushers her inside, shuts the door, and is about to offer her something to drink – water? slightly sour orange juice from the depths of her fridge? – when Alexis pipes up again.

"I'm sorry to just walk in like this, but I wasn't sure, and I didn't tell Dad I was coming – "

"It's okay, Alexis. You're welcome here. What's up?"

"Dad asked me if I'd be okay with him inviting you to come out to the Hamptons with us for the weekend."

"Oh." It hadn't even occurred to Kate. She'd been thinking of this as just another transparent attempt to get in her pants. But he asked his _daughter_. Something warm flutters inside her. "Alexis, I didn't – it's not – "

Alexis smiles a little shyly. "Look, I know you're probably thinking he's, you know, just making a move. But really, it would be great if you came with us. It's really pretty out there. And you work so much harder than any of us do. You deserve a chance to just sleep in and lie on the beach for a while."

Kate weighs the idea silently. Alexis makes it sound idyllic. She knows the Hamptons are a little paradise. And Castle's probably got a beautiful place.

(And her initial reaction, when Castle asked her, wasn't _I don't want to_. It was _I shouldn't_.)

Alexis must read her pause as hesitation, because the girl starts talking again, hurriedly. "I mean. You can do pretty much whatever. And I didn't mean – I mean, it's not like he's doing it out of pity. My friends come out there all the time. It wouldn't be, you know, weird or anything. It'd be nice to have you there, especially since Gram's not coming."

Kate ducks her head, smiles. "It really does sound nice."

"We have a pool. And Dad's really good at grilling. And he likes letting marshmallows go up in flames, but he _will_ cook them right if you ask him to."

Kate's about to answer, but then there's another knock at her front door. Seriously, what is going on?

But she opens it to find –

"Castle?"

He smiles. "Hi, Beckett. Sorry to bother you – "

She can't help that her lips quirk into a smile. "Apparently you need to get in line."

Alexis pokes her head around Kate's arm and grins bashfully up at him. "Hi Dad."

"Alexis?" He blinks in surprise, looking down at his daughter, then back up at her. "Uh – hi, honey. I didn't realize – "

"Your daughter came to invite me out to the Hamptons with you this weekend," Kate informs him, setting her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"But I already invited you."

"She was being nice."

"I'm nice! Are you saying I'm not nice?" He pouts, and Kate can't help but laugh.

"Sorry, Dad. I'm just too adorable." Alexis beams at him. "I outrank you."

"Fair enough. Though be advised, you get that cuteness from me, child of mine." He tugs her into a hug, then turns back to Kate. "So, Beckett. You've been wheedled by two of us now. Is the power of the united Castles drawing you in yet?"

Kate can't help but grin. "Are there any _more_ Castles coming here to persuade me to go with you? Your mother? Distant cousins? Ancestors rising from the grave?"

Castle huffs indignantly. "I resent that. We Castles and Rodgers are a zombie-free clan."

Alexis pokes him in the side. "Dad. You told me I had a zombie great-great-grandmother who would chase me down and eat me if I didn't brush my teeth every night."

"Alexis, I want you to understand that I've told you many, many lies over the years." He ruffles her hair affectionately, and then returns to his pleading expression. "What do you say, Beckett? A weekend of almost-legal fireworks and s'mores and helping Alexis keep me out of trouble?"

* * *

><p>The look that crosses over her face confuses him. It's – almost like a flicker of – is it resignation?<p>

And so he's not really prepared for it when she smiles and says, "Okay."

(But he's certainly not going to complain.)

His phone rings, and he winces (way to ruin a moment, stupid phone) and pulls it out. It's Gina. He's in a good mood, though. "Sorry – hi, Gina. Yeah, I'm sorry. Thanks. Yeah. Oh, no, that's no problem. Look, can I call you back in a bit? Thanks."

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and beams at the woman who's going to come to his summer home. He is absurdly excited. The beach is romantic, after all. And…he's been interested in her for a long, long time now. Maybe he's finally going to convince her he's worth the risk.

* * *

><p>Kate's not sure exactly why she said yes.<p>

(That's a lie.)

Okay, she knows. But it's a combination of reasons. It's not – it's not like she's using it to escape anything.

And she knew, the moment she opened her mouth to say yes, that there was something she would have to do before she set foot in Castle's summer home. Something unpleasant.

Poor Tom.

(Did he ever really have a chance?)

She feels bad. She does. Tom puts up a nominal fight, but he knows it's no use; her mind is made up. She feels a little bad. He's a nice guy. And…well, maybe in another life, it might've worked out.

* * *

><p>Kate parks her car in front of the house ("small mansion" is more accurate, really), checks the address for a third time (it's still correct), and after a few deep breaths, she gets out of the car (quite <em>stalling<em>, Kate).

She drove up alone. Castle was keen to leave early, make sure the house was open when she got there. She'd had a few things to finish up anyway. And this way, she had a silent drive to quietly wonder just what might happen this weekend.

The front door swings open and Castle comes out smiling, Alexis at his heels. "Good! You made it."

"Yeah." Kate feels useless. She doesn't even have pockets to put her hands in, and for some reason, it's really bothering her. Especially since Castle's not saying anything. He's staring. Just staring. "What?" She folds her arms self-consciously. What is he –

"Nothing. Just – you're wearing a dress."

"So?" Kate looks down. It's a basic sundress, quite plain, not unlike what Alexis is wearing. Nothing scandalous. What's his fascination?

"Sorry." He seems to snap out of whatever it was. "I just – you don't wear a lot of dresses, is all."

* * *

><p>The dress gets enough of a reaction that she's somewhat prepared for the first time he sees her in a bathing suit.<p>

Kate has a daring, tiny little red bikini that turns heads. She very consciously did not bring it. She brought her other suit, a fairly simple green one-piece that covers quite a bit more skin and won't make poor Alexis uncomfortable.

Of course, the simple fact that she's not wearing a shirt is enough to ensure that the moment she appears beside the pool, he turns, sees her, and blinks. Her cheeks get warm and it's definitely not from the sun.

While Castle gapes at her and she tries very hard not to stare at his bare chest and low-slung swim trunks, Alexis (bless her) mercifully appears with a beach ball and manages to dissipate the sudden tension that Kate still isn't quite sure how to handle.

* * *

><p>He's walking past Kate's bedroom when he overhears her talking on her phone and starts shamelessly eavesdropping.<p>

It must be Lanie – he chuckles and is about to walk away when suddenly her voice gets softer. "Yeah, I know. Tom's nice. But he just wasn't the one, okay? He wasn't what I was looking for."

He stares at the door.

She broke up with Demming. She's single.

And she's _here._

He slips back downstairs with hope bubbling up in his chest.

* * *

><p>The two of them go for a walk together that night, and in the soft glow of the fading sunset, they don't kiss.<p>

Castle doesn't understand. Aren't they supposed to kiss? Wasn't that the perfect opportunity? There were stars and there was moonlight on the ocean. What more could he get, trained dolphins?

Well – she's probably tired from the trip. He can't grudge it. Besides, she's here till Monday morning. He's got time.

(Oooooooh, maybe it'll rain. He can work with rain. That's romantic too. That's something Rook would do.)

* * *

><p>It doesn't rain the next night, so on the sandy beach behind the house, the three of them light a fire and make s'mores. So he understands her not kissing him. The depths of passion (and tongue) he's expecting might be awkward in front of his daughter.<p>

But then Alexis goes inside to call a friend, leaving the two of them alone again. And in the flickering glow of the firelight, Kate continues to not kiss him. Oh, she smiles, and she laughs, and she swats his arm when he streaks melted chocolate across her cheek. But though he swears he sees her eyes flick down to his mouth (his heart stutters in his chest), she doesn't lean in, curl her hand in his shirt, catch his lips with hers, slip her tongue into his mouth, tasting sweet like chocolate –

She just bites her lip, eyes dancing as she smiles that mysterious, shy smile at him, the smile full of secrets. The one that keeps him hoping against hope that maybe _this time_ she'll stop not kissing him.

But she just brushes her hand over his, the soft touch electric over his skin, sending a shock through him.

"Good night, Castle."

She stands and goes inside, and the soft look in her eyes, the smile hovering over her lips as she looks back at him – it's almost as good as a kiss.

(Almost.)

* * *

><p>Sunday's quiet. It's cooler, cloudy, misty and rain-ish, so Castle grudgingly agrees to postpone the fireworks. Kate still can't find it in herself to mind, though. She sleeps in till 8 (<em>unheard<em> of), Alexis makes pancakes, and the three of them spend the day talking, reading and watching Disney movies.

After a late lunch of entirely too much pizza, Kate finds herself curled up on the couch. They're watching _Aladdin_. On her right, Alexis is looking back and forth between the movie and _The Hunger Games_ open on her lap. On her left, Castle is slumped against the cushions, asleep, head tipped back, snoring lightly. His arm is draped over the back of the couch, and his fingers just barely brush the back of her neck, sending soft shivers down her spine when his hand twitches.

When did she start snuggling with the Castles during rainy day movies?

(And when did it start feeling comfortable?)

Alexis reaches behind Kate and thwacks her father in the face with a pillow to stop his snoring. He wakes with a snort, growls, grabs his own pillow and returns fire. Kate gets caught in the middle, covering her face as both Castles attempt to use her as a human shield.

While Aladdin and Jasmine sing _A Whole New World_ onscreen, Kate confiscates all pillows, sternly glares the errant Castles into penitent submission, and tries very hard not to read into the line _Tell me, Princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?_

* * *

><p>Monday morning, Castle peels himself out of bed at 5:41am because Kate's a morning person, and she's leaving today. And – well, there's no more moonlight to be had, so he'll try for sunrise. Sunrise is good too. Maybe the softer side of Rook could come out. The romantic. She needs to be eased into it. A sunrise kiss is sweet, gentle. A prelude to more. Rook would agree. The dawning of a new relationship. The slow, inevitable progression from the darkness of loneliness to the steady, spreading glow of <em>Oh son of a bitch, seriously, Rick, that's just pathetic.<em>

But Beckett, morning person though she is, does not appear from her room until the soft rosy-golden sunrise has given way to utterly boring daylight. He's disgusted with the sun's failure to accommodate his plans. He's also tired. 5:41 is really damn early to wake up and not get kissed.

"Morning, Castle."

"Morning." He can't really stay grumpy, though. Not when Beckett is padding barefoot through his kitchen in a white t-shirt and shorts, smiling, eyes bright. He's been watching carefully all weekend; the shadows under her eyes have faded, leaving her glowing and relaxed. She needed this vacation.

(Even if she's spent it ignoring chance after chance to kiss him senseless.)

He hands her a cup of coffee, making sure his fingers brush hers gently. She rewards him with a dazzling smile, a soft flush in her cheeks. "Thanks."

"You want some breakfast?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

Alexis comes shuffling in wearing her pajamas and yawning. "Hi, Dad. Hi Kate."

"Good morning, Alexis." Kate pours her a glass of orange juice. "You're up early for a holiday."

(Is it bad that he's really, really into this little family tableau they've been creating all weekend? For some reason, the sight of Kate shuffling, relaxed and barefoot in his house is appealing in a way he'd never considered.)

"Didn't want to miss you leaving. When are you heading out?"

Kate shrugs. "After breakfast. I'm not in a huge hurry."

Castle busies himself preparing waffles, half-listening to his ladies (not that he would ever incur Beckett's wrath by saying that last bit out loud), and he wonders if there's any hope left for a kiss. Late morning isn't romantic. It's not raining, there are no rainbows, she's leaving so there's no chance for a beach walk, and he didn't even bring any Sinatra to set the mood. He could have sworn she was about to take the plunge and pull him in for a kiss a dozen times in the past few days. What stopped her?

He pours batter into the iron and it strikes him so suddenly he almost drops the bowl: _is she waiting for me to do it?_

It makes perfect sense. The first gesture was asking her to come here in the first place. She said yes. _Idiot, Rick. It's _your_ turn now. _

Besides – he looks back at her, the sunlight throwing gold over her hair, her eyes bright, her smile genuine. She's impossibly beautiful. When has Kate Beckett _ever_ had to make the first move?

Breakfast is pleasant. His ladies chat amicably, Alexis confiscates the syrup after telling him Dad, stop, that's _way_ too much, and Castle doesn't really notice, because he's racking his brains trying to find any scraps of possible romance he can scrounge together for a kiss worthy of Jameson Rook's rugged creator.

He's on a deadline, here. This is an emergency.

* * *

><p>She carries her suitcase to the front hall herself, ignoring his pleas to let him do it, she's a guest ("Wouldn't want you to hurt your delicate writer's hands, Castle."). So much for the manly display of strength.<p>

She's leaving.

Castle finally decides there's going to be no moonlight and he can't really do anything about that because this is his last chance. So he abandons all hopes of romance and depth and perfection. He kisses her with no preamble at 10:37am in the hallway beside his kitchen. It's pathetic and unworthy of a novel, but at this point, he's desperate. He has absolutely no game when it comes to her. He is a fumbling, adoring mess for Kate Beckett, but he doesn't care because she doesn't seem to mind (she is _letting him kiss her_).

He backs her up against the wall, cradles her face between his hands, kisses her slow and cautious. The tart taste of orange juice is still on her lips, the sweetness of maple syrup, and he takes his time, teases her with the gentlest possible nips and caresses before finally kissing her thoroughly.

She kisses him back without hesitation, her arms coming around his neck, her body coming flush against his. Her hands slide into his hair and then her tongue is curling against his and oh, screw stars and rain and moonlight and dolphins, this is all he wants.

(Well…not _all…_)

"Castle – " she finally manages to evade his eager mouth long enough to speak – "you're going to have to stop."

"No." He huffs petulantly and kisses her again before she can argue. He doesn't want her to go, because he has spent only three minutes of his life being allowed to kiss Kate Beckett and it is not remotely enough (_three minutes_ _of his life_ isn't even close to _all of it_), and so long as she stays put, well, he can keep kissing her, right?

"I have to leave."

"No."

"_Castle_."

"I don't want you to leave," he mumbles, kissing the corner of her mouth.

"I'm sorry." She sighs, leaning her forehead briefly on his shoulder. He runs a gentle hand over her shoulder. "I can't – "

"It's okay." He kisses her again because really, there's no reason not to. "You have days off coming up?"

She nods. "In two weeks, I get a couple."

"Come back then. If you want to."

* * *

><p>When she finally goes to leave, he's resigned to just hugging her chastely as Alexis watches. But then Kate surprises him. She pulls him in and plants a kiss on his mouth before he realizes it.<p>

When she pulls away and he looks back, Alexis is blushing furiously, but she sticks her chin out boldly. "So – are you two – "

Castle looks back at Kate. It's her call.

She reads the question in his eyes, smiles shyly, tucks her hair behind her ear. "Um. I think so."

* * *

><p>After Alexis goes to Princeton, he's on a deadline for <em>Naked Heat <em>(still hasn't told Kate the title) and ends up swamped. He powers through a working draft, in between phone meetings with Black Pawn and Gina, who are all _delighted_ that their bad-boy author is suddenly buckling down and turning in chapters ahead of schedule. He's pleased with it, but he wants it done. He wants the book out of his way. He wants to go back to Manhattan and see her again. Because he's relatively sure that once he does, he's not going to have a spare thought to waste on the fake Kate Beckett.

She calls him one night when she's off work and he's sitting on his deck, editing. "Detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Nothing in particular. Just wanted to make sure you're staying out of trouble." It's playful, but he hears something in her voice, something faintly wistful. Something he doesn't usually hear. Something…something he's listening for now.

"No trouble to be found." He pauses for a second. "I miss you."

There's a long moment, and he can see her sitting alone in her quiet apartment, curled up on her couch, TV muted, staring wistfully out the windows. "I miss you too."

* * *

><p>The next night, Kate gets back to her place, hits the couch with a heavy sigh, rubs her face. Work is okay. It's fine. It's just – quiet. Really, really quiet. Ryan and Esposito have studiously not said anything, for which she's thankful, but this morning she did catch Ryan straightening Castle's chair beside her desk.<p>

There's a knock at her door.

Even as she gets up, she knows. She knows exactly who it is.

Her breathing is suddenly shallow and her hands are a little unsteady as she unlocks the door.

The minute it's open, Castle's arms are around her, his mouth is on hers, and she's wondering how she managed a week without this.

He eventually lets her go. "Hey," he whispers. "Um. I brought you these."

He holds up a cluster of roses and her face gets warm. "That's really sweet." She takes the bouquet, rubs a petal gently between her fingers. "Why'd you come back?"

He reaches up, brushes her hair back from her face. "I'd hate to spend the summer without you."


	23. 2x12, Rose For Everafter

Darling cartographical, you are the spondee to my dactyl.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: 2x12, A Rose For Everafter<strong>

_He's all yours._

Castle hands her a glass of wine and comes to join her on the couch.

Her body is warm and sated, full from a delicious dinner. She doesn't normally do this, come home with him (_play house_, her traitorous mind supplies helpfully). But he looked so miserable, so kicked-puppy after Kyra walked away (for the last time) that when he asked her to come over, she couldn't bring herself to say no. His eyes had lit up at her _yes_, his smile genuine, and she'd told herself that the butterflies in her stomach were just adrenaline.

(_Adrenaline from what, Kate? Come on. At least convince yourself_.)

She watches him hesitantly over the rim of her glass. Kyra's words are dancing through her mind. Not that she'd say it – not that she's admitting it – but seeing the surveillance photos did something to her. Seeing the two of them…his lips…even thinking about it now sends a hot shiver of something through her.

(Maybe this is a bad idea.)

He's looking good this evening. Really, really good. He always dresses well. She's not blind; the man looks good in a sport coat. But it's the way he looks now – another button undone at the top of his shirt, his sleeves rolled up, baring his strong forearms – that she's finding even more appealing. She likes this masculine side of him, the way his muscles ripple in his arms, the flex of his hands. He has big hands.

Not that she's noticing it, of course.

Normally she doesn't let herself just stare at him. But now she can't look away.

He sits a respectable distance from her (she's relieved, isn't she?) and she clears her throat, toying with the stem of her wineglass. "What are we drinking to?"

"You want me to make a toast?"

"Well, you _are_ the literary one in this relationship." Damn it. She could bite her tongue the minute she says it. She meant to say _partnership_ (didn't she?), not taunt him with a word that has connotations far beyond its simple meaning.

He twitches an eyebrow at her – of _course_ he caught her word choice – but lets it go. "Well then. Here's to love."

She rolls her eyes but clinks her glass with his. "Of all the fancy toasts in the world, you come up with 'to love?' Castle. I at _least_ expected a haiku."

"Less is more, Detective." He grins. He needs to stop doing that. "Why? You uncomfortable talking about love?"

Her face is getting warm - surely it's just the wine - but she holds his gaze, refuses to back down. "No. Just didn't realize you would leap right to it."

It _is_ making her uncomfortable. But damned if she's going to give him the satisfaction.

"Love is the bread and butter of artists and writers, Beckett. People don't skip over romantic scenes to get back to the plot."

Kate is absolutely not going to tell him that he's right and that she does quite the opposite when she re-reads his books.

"But it doesn't always end happily," she points out. "Especially in real life."

He blinks, then seems to get it. "Kyra."

She wasn't going to aim straight for that, but she _was_ thinking it. "It's an example. You were in love with her."

He shrugs. "Maybe I was then. But it was a long time ago. We were different people. She's found the right guy now. I think they'll be happy together."

"She's a good person."

_He's all yours_.

He gives her a half smile. "Yeah."

Kate really, really doesn't want to talk more about Kyra. She doesn't think he needs to drag himself back through what was apparently a rough breakup.

She's trying to think of something else to say, some other topic that doesn't sound like a complete _non sequitur_, when he speaks again. "What is it about some women? They don't try, not at all, but they're irresistible."

Kate shifts a little uncomfortably. She has photographic evidence of just how irresistible he found Kyra Blaine.

"And of course there's you, Detective."

She smiles wryly, props her head on her hand. "Not every woman launches a thousand ships, Castle."

"Oh, don't be modest. You're a heartbreaker."

She lets out a breath. "Right." Yeah. Sure. Such a catch. Doesn't quite square up with the reality of her (total lack of a) social life.

"All you gorgeous brunettes. You just walk all over me." He doesn't seem to realize he just grouped her with the woman he spent a fair amount of time pathetically in love with.

"Castle – "

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "Look at you. You're stunning. You've probably broken dozens of hearts."

"Hardly." She flushes, looks away. This is different. He's not usually this frank about how he feels.

"Sure you have," he sighs dramatically, taking another sip and setting his wineglass aside. "You weren't even trying. You can just bat your eyes and bite your lip and whisper hot things into his ear and walk away like you're not even interested. It's lethal."

Her cheeks get hot, and she doesn't know what to say. Because she remembers every second of that, every look, every word. And she did it on purpose. God, she did it on purpose. It was such a sense of power, leaning into his space, feeling his breath on her cheek and the fierce thrumming desire pulsing through his body. She teased him. She knew exactly what he wanted and she dangled it in front of him. Then she strutted away because she wanted him to watch her. She wanted him to drool.

And apparently it worked.

She's fixed on his mouth – she's been stuck there for so long while he talked – and then she drags her eyes up to find him staring at her. Staring. His gaze is dark, penetrating, heated with a desperation she's never seen on him, with something serious and longing and so powerful she can't breathe for a moment.

His throat bobs as he swallows unevenly. "Kate. I think I'm going to kiss you now."

Her throat closes up. She's not sure what to say. (Okay?)

_He's all yours._

His mouth is on hers before she realizes what's happening.

He tastes of wine and the chocolate ice cream he convinced her to eat for dessert and _him_ and her head spins and it's _perfect_. And then his tongue slips into her mouth and her mind goes blissfully blank.

Castle kisses her languidly, his hand sliding over her shoulder, cupping the back of her neck, angling her mouth to give him better access. She's warm and mellow from the dinner and wine and the closeness and his touch and she lets him in, opens her lips to him, lets his tongue curl over hers, reaches her arms around his neck.

She can feel him smiling against her lips, and then he's pulling her closer, getting more aggressive, and she lets him, leaning into his body. He tugs her onto his lap and then his hands start wandering, tracing light circles on her back, slipping lower as he devours her mouth.

His hands slide under her shirt and she gasps, arches involuntarily as his nimble fingers drag over her skin. He hits just the right spot just as he catches her lower lip between his teeth and she can't help the moan that escapes. Her hips sink into his and he lets out a guttural groan that vibrates in her mouth as he pulls her closer, crushing her to his chest as his hands slip under –

"Oh! Well. Don't mind me, kids, I'll just be on my way."

Kate gasps, pulls away, scrambles off his lap, face burning as she tugs her shirt back down and slaps away Castle's wandering hands. His _mother_ – they just got caught by his _mother_, right as she let him put his hands – and his tongue was –

_Shit_.

Martha's already out the front door (she was here this whole time? – they didn't even hear her on the stairs, damn it) but Kate's still spooked, and though he tries to pull her back into his lap, she doesn't let him. "Castle, stop it – "

"What?"

"That was your _mother_," she hisses.

He shrugs. "My house. My couch. What's the problem?"

Kate groans and drops her head in her hands. "God, this is embarrassing."

"Relax. It could have been worse. It wasn't Alexis."

_Like that makes it better?_ She sighs, because he's right, but the moment's broken.

"Kate. Could you please stop looking like you feel nauseated?"

She looks up to find Castle watching her with a slightly uneasy expression.

"What?"

"I'd like to think kissing me isn't the worst experience you've ever had." Apparently he took her embarrassment for distaste.

She lets out a short laugh. "It's not that. I just – "

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't know she was home."

Kate shakes her head. At least Martha didn't seem bothered. "I should – "

He cuts her off with a kiss before she can say _go_, pressing her back into the cushions before she finally manages to push him away. "_Castle_. It's late."

"Not that late."

"I have – _stop_ it. I have to – _oh_ – work tomorrow."

"Call in sick."

"I ca- _Castle_, stop it." She pulls his hands out from under her shirt and fixes him with a (somewhat ineffectual) glare. "You are such a _child_."

"Oh, I'm all man, Kate. And I fully intend to prove it to you."

She flushes hotly. "I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

They make it to the front door. It's a long time before she finally manages to get it open.

* * *

><p>She steps into the elevator, and he takes a last look before the doors close. The normally-put-together detective is flustered, her shirt ridden up, face flushed, lips swollen and pink, eyes bright, hair a mess.<p>

She's gorgeous.

* * *

><p>He's in fine form the next morning, whistling <em>The Raiders' March<em> as he putters cheerfully in the kitchen. Alexis appears, stifling a yawn.

"Good morning, my child. Breakfast?"

"Morning, Dad." Alexis watches as he busies himself scooping eggs onto a plate for her. "So Gram caught you and Detective Beckett making out last night."

The spatula clatters to the counter before he can catch it. "Uh. Your grandmother has a way with words, doesn't she?"

"Yeah." She grimaces. "I really didn't want to hear details."

He coughs a little. Recovers. Tentatively sips juice. "Are you okay with this, sweetheart? I know you know Kate and all, and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable about it."

She props her chin on one hand. "You really like her, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do."

Alexis smiles. "I like her too. She's nice. And she keeps you in line. Just keep it appropriate around me and we're fine."

"Deal." He tips his orange juice, clinks her glass. "To life?"

Alexis wrinkles her nose. "No. To it being Gram who caught you, not me. _Ewww_."


	24. 3x14, Lucky Stiff

Welcome to the first ever chapter co-written by Ms. Cartographical and Ms. Cora Clavia. Coragraphical? Cartoclavia? Eh. Whatever.

**From cartographical: **It's really hard to tell Cora Clavia "no" when she asks me to do something, especially when that something is cowriting a chapter of one of my _favorite stories ever_. It's been a fun dip (exciting plunge? terrifying submersion?) into KMC world, and hopefully I didn't screw it all up too badly!

**From Cora Clavia:** It should be _illegal_, the amount of fun we had writing this chapter. Thanks to carto for agreeing to try it. Hopefully you enjoy the result.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: 3x14, Lucky Stiff<strong>

_Move that ass, move that ass, git on the flo, git on the flo._

The second he clicks his seatbelt and she turns the key in the ignition, his Ferrari roars to life, and he's pressed back against the smooth leather of his passenger seat. His eyes immediately start stinging from the sudden wind, but he can't help but look over at her, the dangerous spark in her eyes, the whip and tangle of her hair. His eyes trail down her arm, the lithe, easy line from her shoulder to her fingers, stop there, arrested by the way she holds the gearshift as she shifts from third to fourth, by the way her fingers circle slightly, almost caressing the knob. The absent motion shoots straight through parts of him that _oh _she's definitely never seen but holy -

This car is worth every penny he paid for it, if only because she is just so hot when she's working that gear shift like she knows exactly what he's thinking about.

By the time they squeal to a halt at the club his car's engine isn't the only thing that's revved. He swallows, shifts, tries to get his brain far enough out of the gutter that he can speak in full sentences.

And like she knows what it's doing to him, she smiles, that catlike smile that says _Oh, the things I could do to you in this car_, but all she does is hand him back the keys with a faintly amused, "Wow. Nice car."

He has all these thoughts, all these sexy retorts about the way she handles the stick and what they could do in the backseat and how relatively easy it is to clean up leather, but then she's getting out of the car and those legs – those_ legs_– it is completely inconceivable that any man could ever get out a coherent sentence, let alone engage in witty repartee, when confronted with the long, smooth expanse of Beckett's thighs and knees and calves and ankles.

"Coming," he finally manages to squeak out, thankful that by now she's probably far enough away that she won't have heard him. She turns at the door, waiting for him to give the keys to the valet, one eyebrow arched in amusement (undoubtedly at his expense), but, thankfully, she makes no comment on the fact that he's already a mess.

(He has a suddenly renewed appreciation for James Bond, who never, _ever _turns into a stuttering mess when a beautiful woman has her hands all over his gear shaft.)

"Keep up, Castle," she murmurs.

The laughter in her voice is enough to make him stumble, drop the keys as he goes to hand them to the valet. They clatter to the ground, and then he cracks his head against the young guy's as they both bend to get them. He stands slowly, rubbing his forehead, waving off the valet's apologies and glancing sheepishly at his pseudo-date.

Beckett seems poised to jump the border from amused to aghast. "Everything okay?" she asks, although she doesn't look very concerned and her tone is more _Can you really not handle a relatively simple undercover operation after sitting motionless in a car for five minutes? Seriously?_ He wants to point out that he is in no way equipped to deal with the filthy way she handled the stick (okay, at least in his mind it was filthy), but he decides maybe he should just shut up and let her take the lead before he makes even more of an idiot of himself.

Walking in the door presents no giant problems (thank God for small favors). Unfortunately, he's watching when she takes off her coat. She shimmies - _shimmies _- out of it, even though it's not very tight at_ all _so there is no way that she can actually need to roll her shoulders so suggestively. And then she's walking away from him with a gait that's as loose and liquid as her usual walk is clipped and measured, and she's all bare legs and silky hair and that patch of her bare back in the cutout of her dress is making him think bad, bad things and she needs to _stop moving her hips like that _because he's not sure what the touching rules are here but he's relatively sure that grabbing her hips and hauling her up against him is still Not Allowed.

Somehow he's following her to the center of the dance floor, her long legs shifting and swaying to the music, and then she's slinking closer to him, shifting so her body's a breath away from his. _Not helping. _She runs a hand through her hair, and he can't miss the line of her neck, the perfect place to just barely kiss her skin, trail up the column of her throat, feel her gasp as she -

She's coming closer, closer, too close, oh God is she going to -

But she bypasses his mouth, goes for his ear. Whispers something. Something vaguely like _can't find him_ and _need to get further in_ and _follow me_ and okay, fine, no problem. _Further in _he can do. Will do. Wants to do. She turns around, the scent of her hair clouding his face, his mind, his (scarce) better judgment, and then she's swiveling away from him, and he can't help it, he's watching, leering really. It's entirely her fault, the way she turns, the way the curve of her body is so present, the way her hips move, tense thigh under taut fabric, oh, it's -

The movement stops and he looks up blankly to find her glaring at him again. _Can you please get _with _it, _she seems to be saying from under her dark, impossibly long lashes, and he realizes suddenly that he's going to have to step up his game at least enough that he's not trailing after her like a stumbling, worshipful Basset Hound. For now, though, he can only follow as she leads him through the grossly crowded dance floor. He'd hate it, but he really can't bring himself to be unhappy with anything that means she has to grab his wrist, pull him closer, crush their bodies together (is this Allowed? is this Not Allowed?) so tightly and it's so _hot_ in here and _what are we doing exactly?_

She does that thing again where she puts her mouth up to his ear, that thing that makes heat pool low in his body and he has to forcibly stop himself from sliding his hands down her back in a way that is definitely Not Allowed. She hisses something so very, very sexy - he's not even sure what it is, words that register vaguely as _back of the club_, but at this point between the pulsing bass of the music and the thrumming of his pulse in his own ears it could be anything, anything from _go get us some drinks _to _my gun is in my thigh holster and I need you to get it with your teeth -_

He closes his eyes, swallows against _that _particular visual, since she's talking again and now he needs to _focus_, damn it, he needs to be useful so that maybe she'll let them go on this type of undercover operation every single day for the rest of his life.

"The back is where everything shady happens. We have to get off the main floor. He's not going to be out in the open."

"Huh?" Shady? Does she mean -

She growls in frustration (it's so sexy), but he can't blame her because he has absolutely no game tonight. "Castle. The naughty corner. If Oz is dealing it's going to be from there, come _on_."

And then she's off, dragging him along the dance floor and he can't find it in him to mind the hard grip of her fingers around his wrist because she is dragging him to the naughty corner and even just her hissing the word _naughty _in his ear is fodder for so many dirty, dirty ideas that he is sure that none of this can actually be happening.

She pulls him further through the gyrating masses of dancers, and surely it's just because it's crowded that she keeps her hand on him. He stumbles along, hating himself because she is so graceful, so lithe, so fluid, and he keeps bumping into people like some giant, awkward sloth with two left feet, stuttering apologies.

The lights are dimmer further back, and he can feel the swaying get a little more subdued. He opens his mouth to ask her, well, something, but as his eyes quickly adjust to the darker atmosphere, he sees exactly where they're heading. Dancing is not the main activity in this part of the club. Not exactly. He catches a sudden glimpse of a couple pressed against the wall in the corner, the guy's hand fumbling with the button of the girl's tight jeans, and there's a trio off to the side that's starting to – oh, _oh_, she was _not _kidding when she said this was the naughty corner, what on earth are they _doing _back here?

They're blocked by the sudden bulk of a sizeable gentleman who seems to have spent several years perfecting his dark, menacing glare. He doesn't speak, just shakes his head at them slowly and shows absolutely no inclination to step out of the way, and well, okay, that was a nice try, time to regroup, maybe see if there's some sort of back entrance they can slip through or secret passageway they can use.

He's just starting to shift away when he feels Beckett's body cant into his, her shoulder nudging up against his chest, her hand sliding up his chest in a way he is going to remember forever, and then she is pressing herself into him, long and soft and perfect and just _wow_.

"Oh, come on," she purrs (_purrs_) at the big guy as her fingers slip under the collar of Castle's shirt and he tries not to choke. "We just want to have a little fun."

He swallows. Decides his hand on her hip is probably Allowed at this point. Chances it. It works. Big guy gives them a once-over, and is almost certainly more convinced by this smoky-eyed sex kitten version of Beckett draped over Castle than by Castle himself. But he steps aside, lets her past.

She leans into Castle, hisses in his ear again, and he really, really likes it. "Castle. This is the naughty corner. You have to actually _touch me."_

There is no possible _way_ that she can mean what he thinks she means, but when he chances a glance over his shoulder the guy is glaring again, and screw it, _screw it_, if Kate Beckett tells him to touch her there is no universe in which he's going to say no.

Just a little undercover operation between partners. He's done this before. He doesn't still dream about it, waking up to the phantom feel of her lips slicking over his, to the reverberation of her moan through his mouth, to the scratch of her nails over the back of his neck.

He's a professional. Sort of.

She's taken his temporary paralysis to back herself against a wall that, if he thinks about it logically (which is proving to be _far _more difficult than usual), actually has a decent vantage point, and her eyes are sharp, alert, scanning the room, but all of a sudden she is _hitching her leg _up against his and through the fabric of his pants he can feel the heat of her bare thigh and her fingers are trailing along the back of his neck and apparently _everything is allowed now _so he lets her drag his body into hers and kisses her.

He's tentative at first, but she won't have it. She's immediately impatient, murmuring _stop half-assing this _before her teeth are digging into his lip and her tongue slides over his, angry, desperate, and then her hips are rocking into his, her thigh sliding over his leg like they're actually -

Her fingers curl around his ear, and then her mouth is on his jaw, tracing over the rough stubble and if he had only known that _this _would happen he would have shaved. She uses her leverage on his ear to tug his head down to her neck, and he thinks he should slow down or stop or something but he can only growl a quick "okay?" (_Still Allowed? _he wants to say, but it's too many syllables and she might not understand anyway) before he can't help tilting in, laving his tongue over her throat.

"Yes, yes, come _on_," she says, her voice rough and breathy and sounding not at all like she's only playing at undercover, and then he feels her hands on his shoulders and she's bracing herself, pushing up as she wraps her other leg around his waist, her thighs tightening into a hot, firm vice around his hips.

_To get a better look at the room_, he reminds his traitorous body, but _fuck _that feels good, and he can't help but growl a little as he sinks his teeth gently into her shoulder.

"Oh," he thinks he hears her breathe, and then she's rolling her hips against his in earnest and there's no way he can't thrust back, sink his head and worry the sharp edge of her collarbone with his teeth and tongue as her fingers flex against his neck, clutch at his hair. He's got one hand on her leg and he can't help himself, sliding his palm over her smooth skin, feeling the heat and lithe power of her strong muscles against him. Her dress is already rucked up her legs, and when his fingertips slip just under the hem she lets out this high-pitched moan that goes straight through him because it's the kind of noise she should be making in his bedroom while she's under him, not in this dark seedy club just feet away from another couple who are definitely doing it for real and there are people _watching_ them but _she doesn't seem to care _and that's just so -

Her hips rock into his roughly again and the weight between his legs is getting uncomfortable and there's no wayshe can't feel it and if this doesn't stop soon it is going to get seriously, seriously embarrassing for him.

She ducks her head forward, drops her chin so that her cheekbone bumps against his and when she talks her lips brush the outside of his ear. "I think I see him, just give me one more - no, just," and then she's clamping her legs harder around his hips and lifting herself up a little higher and oh, okay, _that's _an interesting angle. He's not quite with it enough to stop the sharp, earnest thrust of his hips that presses her firmly back against the wall. She breathes out harshly in either amusement or arousal and sinks her teeth into his earlobe, and he's sure, he's sure that it's just a ploy to get a better visual of Oz, but she is _absolutely _toying with him, the way her tongue laves over the skin her teeth just sank into, the way her hips roll against his continuously, now, these long, languid thrusts that make him groan into her shoulder.

This is almost certainly Not Allowed, but he needs to level the playing field, so he edges his fingers up higher, further under the short hem of the dress, and he's so enraptured by the tense play of her muscles under his hand that he doesn't stop until he hits the sharp junction of her hipbone and his fingers leave her warm skin and trip over lacy fabric instead.

"_Fuck, Castle_," she's growling in his ear, but her voice is breathless, rough, choked, and her hips jerk under his touch. "That's not - "

Her voice trails off into a breathy moan as he sucks hard at a spot just behind her ear, pressing her back against the wall harder. Her nails dig into his back even through his jacket, and her breath is hot on his skin as he feels her tensing against him. Her heels are digging into the back of his legs as she squirms and tries to take a long breath but can't seem to get one into her lungs. A long_ ohhhhhhhh _escapes her lips, vibrates in his chest. Her body is getting more and more tense, tightening against him, rocking into him with these tiny thrusts of her hips while she gasps, and if he didn't know better he'd swear Kate Beckett is about to -

And then she's shoving him away from her, _hard, _gracelessly untangling her legs from around his hips and stumbling upright, her chest heaving and her face flushed. "He's over there," she says, voice tight, ending on an exhale as her knees shift together. "He just walked into the - into the side room."

"Beckett," he starts, but she's shaking her head at him.

"Just come on," she says, purposefully sidestepping him as he goes to take her hand and they thread their way across the floor, she with purpose and confidence, him following blindly because _did that just happen?_

Oz, as per every cliché he could possibly imagine, is a sharp-dressed, oily guy with rat-like eyes that fix on her way, way too quickly. Of course, that's kind of the point, isn't it? Castle sucks in his stomach, resists the insane temptation to pull her against his body and kiss her for this sleazebag to see. Oz probably wouldn't care, but she would _definitely _kill him.

She charms them into Oz's little corner like she's not even trying, all giggles and batting eyelashes and soft bedroom voice and Castle can't handle this, can't stand it, is crazy at the idea that _any _man gets to hear this breathy sex voice of hers (except him, of course), and it's all he can do to stop himself from grabbing her.

She flops down on the couch next to Oz, and Castle takes the opportunity to sit _way_ too close, crowding her till he can feel her heat, the supple curves of her slender body. Then he thinks about what Oz probably just saw them doing up against that wall (well, _almost _doing) and decides the hell with it, the words Not Allowed lost all meaning right about the time she wrapped her legs around his waist and started moaning into his mouth. So he shifts a little, tilts into her and slides his hand over her knee, starts tracing absent circles with his index finger over the bottom of her quad.

Her breath catches, and Oz is narrowing his eyes like he really wouldn't mind at all if Castle suddenly combusted or walked away or just generally wasn't there at all, but then Beckett's breathing out, "I like to feel shiny," as she arches her back slightly, and yeah, shiny. He likes that. She's biting her lip, and it is just so utterly not _fair _that she's not even trying right now and she still has two men completely undone.

"It's gonna cost you," Oz murmurs, and his eyes are raking over her in a way Castle does not like. Not at all. He's about to get more handsy with his "girlfriend" just to prove a point, make it obvious that she's taken, but then he has to choke back the yelp as suddenly _her_ hand is sliding up _his_ thigh, dangerously close to where he really really desperately wants it, her fingernails scratching lightly over his leg, and _oh, Kate, Kate, you really shouldn't do that _-

"It's okay. Good things always do." And then she _bites her finger_, and her hand is on his thigh and he can't help himself. He leans into her, lowers his head to put his lips on her neck, just beneath her jaw, feels her pulse thrum under his lips, slides his hand a little higher on her thigh. He feels her muscles twitch, jump, and it's so unfair that this is happening in some creepy club ten inches from another man because this is dangerously close to fulfilling some of the more satisfying fantasies he's ever had about her.

Oz's gaze turns a little less confrontational, a little more curious. "You both like to have a little fun then?" he asks.

Beckett blinks languidly, slips her hand over Oz's sleeve. "We like making friends, too."

(Does she mean - )

Interest flickers over Oz's face. "That a fact, huh?"

"Yeah," she drawls, leaning back into Castle. Uh, yeah. Apparently that's exactly what she means. "What do you think, baby? He seems like such a nice guy."

She nuzzles his throat, plants a wet kiss on his neck, and then he remembers that he needs to answer. "I think you're right."

"I'm a _real _nice guy," Oz grins. "Scout's honor."

She flicks a glance back at Castle, then trails her nails over the back of Oz's hand, and oh, _oh _this is absolutely _not _okay. "You think you can make it good for me?"

Oz gets this dark, mesmerized look, like he's already imagining it. "I think he and I can take you around the world, baby."

Castle swallows the sudden, hot flare of jealousy and tries to look interested or encouraging or aroused, and at least the last emotion's not a stretch at all as Beckett's hand trips ever higher up his leg.

"But," she breathes, her voice positively _dripping _sex, "you're two big, strong men." She's practically purring at this point, and he knows it's an act, he knows, but it's still impossible for him not to press his hand more firmly into her thigh, not to scrape his teeth along her shoulder. "I might need something to help me - relax."

Oz smiles, clearly satisfied. "I can help with that." He reaches into his jacket, pulls out the little bag, and hands it over.

It's all so fast then. Sex Kitten Kate vanishes as Detective Beckett twists Oz's arm, slams him down onto the table, _and_ groin-kicks the bodyguard who tries to stop her. _Can she possibly be any hotter? _Castle stares, dumbfounded, not sure how to deal with all this dark seedy sexually charged atmosphere and the phantom tickle of her hands on him and the way she -

Right. Working here.

"_Handcuffs_," she hisses impatiently, and that's just great, great, how is he supposed to think about handcuffs at a time like this (and then it's suddenly all he can think about, the feel of cold metal under his fingers as it snicks around her wrist, her hands wrapped around the bars of a headboard as she arches -). "_Castle,_" she growls. Handcuffs. For Oz. Okay.

His fingers brush against hers as he hands over the cuffs, and after all the contact they've just had it should be meaningless, but it sends the same shudder through him that the feeling of her skin always does.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Oz says with a scowl, turning his head toward them as she cuffs him. "_You?_"

Castle can't help but snort a little as she hauls Oz up off the table and drags him out. "Try thinking with your brain next time," she spits at the drug dealer, impatient, grumpy, all business (but still so _hot_).

Castle hastens to follow, though tonight he has been essentially useless as anything more than a pocket for her cuffs (_and a sexual plaything_, his mutinous brain supplies), and oh, there is no _way _he is ever going to forget the way it felt to have her nearly-bare legs wrapped around his hips as she thrust against him.

He realizes he's still standing there blankly as she's starting to walk Oz out the club, and he should really be on full alert; this place has been Oz's hangout for who knows how long and nobody in clubs like this likes a cop (well, he thinks, that might not be entirely true, from the way most of the patrons seem to be eyeing Beckett in a combination of curiosity and unbridled lust).

She tosses a glance over her shoulder. "Coming?" she asks, and even though it's mostly acerbic, he likes to think that he can hear the affection in her tone. He finally catches up to her. "Get my coat, will you?"

He obeys, gets it from the front, and isn't sure what to do with it. She's already hauling Oz out the door, so he trots behind her. The valets are running to get the car, so they get the pleasure of standing in the cold waiting with a grumpy drug dealer who won't shut up.

"Seriously. You cannot _seriously _be a fucking cop," he grumbles. "And you? You a cop too, or just her sex toy?"

Castle isn't really sure how to answer that. She answers for him. "He's my partner, asshole," she growls.

"For the record," Castle says, "I definitely don't mind being your sex toy."

It's totally worth the heated glare she shoots at him.

_Totally_ worth it.


	25. 2x10, One Man's Treasure

Oh cartographical, you are the aglet to my shoelace.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: 2x10, One Man's Treasure<strong>

_When a person loses someone, this is important._

The elevator doors close on Anna Knowles, tear-stained face beaming with soft happiness as she clutches the little photo book to her chest, and Castle comes up to Alexis, who's still standing there, staring wistfully. "I'm really proud of you, Pumpkin. This is a tough place for a teenager, but you've done a great job."

"Thanks, Dad." She wraps her arms around his waist, sighing. "I'm glad I did it."

"I think this calls for a celebration," he tells her, ruffling her hair. "How about dinner at La Piazza? We haven't seen Sal and Maria in a while. And I think triumphant young law enforcement interns are required to eat entirely too many breadsticks."

"Actually, Dad – " she hesitates for a second. "Do you think – do you think Detective Beckett would like to come with us?"

"Why don't you ask her, sweetheart?"

Kate seems surprised at the invitation, but she smiles. Accepts. Says she has a few things to finish up, so she'll meet them at the restaurant.

* * *

><p>Later, Kate glances at her watch. Calculates. She wants to go home, change. She's running a little late. Maybe she can just text him that she'll be there soon?<p>

Her phone is in her hand when she realizes what it'll look like. Castle and Alexis standing inside the restaurant. Waiting. Checking their watches.

Alexis getting impatient.

Waiting –

- waiting way too long –

- going home hungry.

And then the officer at the front door.

Her phone hits the desk as she tries to breathe through the sudden hit of panic, the memory that's too vivid. She can still feel the gloves she was wearing, the wool scratching her fingers as she watched Raglan take off his hat and clear his throat.

(It's not like that. It's not like that at all.)

* * *

><p>It's not like that. She knows it's not.<p>

But she nixes the stop at home and goes straight to the restaurant instead, and she ends up walking in about ten seconds before the Castles appear. Castle's face lights up. "You beat us here! I thought you had stuff to do."

Her throat constricts and she can't say it, can't bring herself to explain why she couldn't bear the thought of being late, so she shrugs. "I, uh. Didn't want you two to end up waiting."

Confusion flickers over his face for a moment before she sees the spark of understanding. He gets it. Her chest gets tight as his face falls into sadness, his blue eyes getting soft.

And she hates pity, always has. But this is different. It's not pity. It's –

- it's not pity. It's warmer.

Maybe there isn't a word for it.

(Or maybe it's not a word she's comfortable using.)

Alexis follows the waiter, oblivious, while Kate takes a deep breath. Castle's hand just barely brushes hers as they make their way through the restaurant. She doesn't pull away.

* * *

><p>La Piazza is a pretty little place, the walls lined with black-and-white photos from Rome and Capri, the furniture mostly old, polished wood.<p>

They slide into a booth, Alexis on one side, Castle and Beckett on the other. Kate feels a little awkward, but then again, it's probably been just the two of them for so long that they normally sit across from each other. And Alexis doesn't seem to mind; she's talking so incessantly she barely even notices when the waiter hands them menus.

Castle's thigh brushes against hers and she swallows, focuses on the menu. Not on him. _Not_ on him.

"Riccardo Castello! And Baby Alexis! It's been too long."

Kate looks up to find a middle-aged woman bustling out, wiping her hands on a white apron. A man is with her, obviously her husband. Castle beams.

"Sal, Maria! Great to see you again."

Sal, it turns out, is the restaurant owner, having inherited the place from his father Luigi, an immigrant from just outside Rome. Maria, his wife, is a brilliant baker, responsible for the entirely-too-delicious breadsticks they've been enjoying.

"And little Lexi, you are just getting so _tall_, so pretty," Sal beams, tugging the girl's hair. "Riccardo, you're going to have to keep the boys away from this one."

His wife elbows him. "Salvatore. You're being rude. Riccardo has yet to tell us who his lovely guest is."

Sal shrugs. "I was waiting to see when he was going to introduce us to his girlfriend."

Maria scowls and tweaks his ear. "No, Sal. No way she's his girlfriend. She's too pretty for him."

Castle laughs. "She's not my girlfriend. We work together. Maria, this is Kate Beckett. She's a police detective."

Maria coos, reaches out her floury hand. "Kate. Detective Kate. So nice to meet you."

"Salvatore? Salvatore!" A wrinkled, wizened old woman with snow-white hair comes out to join them. "Salvatore, why you out here? You go to kitchen. You cook." Her Italian accent is heavy, her voice clear and chirpy.

"Mama, darling, it's Riccardo and Lexi! And Riccardo brought a lady friend."

Castle nods. "Kate, this is Lucia, Sal's mother."

The old woman purses her lips, squinting at Kate through her glasses for a long moment. "She pretty. But she too skinny. She never have babies."

"It's not like that, Lucia. She's not my girlfriend."

Lucia shrugs. "Good. Because she too skinny. She eat more. _Then_ she is your girlfriend."

Alexis has one hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud. Kate feels her cheeks get red. Castle just chuckles. "Thank you, Lucia. We'll keep that in mind."

Sal and the women head back to the kitchen, and Alexis finally lets out the giggle she's been holding in. "Sorry. She usually tells me I need to eat more so I can find a man to take care of me."

Kate nods. "Huh. Good to know."

Castle doesn't comment, just holds up the basket of breadsticks. She's about to take another one when she sees the mischief in his eyes. Thinks about Lucia's words.

Cute, Castle. Real cute.

Her face gets warm, but she just tells him, "No thanks."

Not right now.

* * *

><p>Dinner is delicious, of course.<p>

Kate isn't really surprised to find that the Castles chatter like magpies all through their meal. Alexis has a wealth of anecdotes from her time at the precinct, and naturally her father is an unending well of stories that Kate half thinks _have_ to be made up on the spot. Seriously. No one could possibly have spent that much time and energy collecting small farm animals in Manhattan.

Castle wipes his mouth, takes a sip of his wine. "So Anna Knowles was happy to get the pictures?"

Alexis nods eagerly. "She was so nice. And she showed me all those pretty pictures of her grandparents. She was so sweet, she was crying and telling me how happy it made her to get them. I'm glad we found her."

Alexis excuses herself to use the bathroom, leaving Kate looking down at her plate, trying to get ahold of herself. She's so glad Alexis got this experience – the girl is really growing up – but it's bringing back a flood of memories she just isn't ready to deal with.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, meant only for her. Always for her.

"Yeah." She chances a look up at him, and the undisguised tenderness in his eyes takes her breath away. This was just supposed to be dinner. Not an emotional upheaval.

"I'm sorry – I know this – brought up some things." He's hesitant, cautious. Like he's desperate to say the right thing but not quite sure what it is. She can't help it. It's…endearing. He's protective. Of everyone in his life. He takes care of people. It's his nature.

"It's okay, Castle." It sort of is. She's not really at her best right now, but this feels comfortable. It's been a long time since she's been part of a family like this.

Over by the restrooms, she can see, Lucia has accosted Alexis and is currently combing careful fingers through the girl's long red hair.

"I'm really glad you could join us, you know. She really looks up to you." He pauses for a second. "It's not – I mean, did you not – "

"It was the last thing. With Anna. It just – it reminded me of – something from my mom."

"The pictures?"

"Her perfume." Kate takes a long, hitching breath. "She was leaving the office to come meet us, so she'd brought her perfume with her. It was in her bag. It ended up in the storage room. But some young officer found it. Brought it back. I remember – he came to our door, asked if it was hers – " she remembers it, sees the shy, awkward young officer, the little bottle in his hands. "I couldn't stop crying for hours."

She can't say anymore, tries to tighten her jaw, swallow around the ache in her throat. And then suddenly his hand is on hers where it rests on her thigh, lacing his fingers through hers. She stares down numbly at their hands. Clasped. Tangled. Warmed. Not locked. Cradled.

Her heart does a stumble in her ribcage, because this tiny thing, this innocent touch, makes her feel so incredibly precious that she almost can't breathe. She's a carefully organized mess tonight, an unexpected bundle of emotions (she never told anyone about the perfume before) and wonder (he's never held her hand like this before) and sweet ache (it feels like a real _family_, like Mom and Dad asking their daughter about her day) and there's sadness but there's something else too, something warm and deep that's blossoming and bubbling and unfolding in her chest and tingling in her fingers and flushing her cheeks. Something she can't quite put a name to.

Something good.

* * *

><p>Stuffed full of delicious Italian food, they walk out, waving goodnight to Sal and Maria. Lucia trots out to catch them before they go and hands them little containers of tiramisu. She pats Kate's cheek. "You eat more, Kate. You make nice babies."<p>

Kate lands a subtle elbow in Castle's side as he coughs a laugh behind her, and simply smiles and tells Lucia "_Grazie mille_."

* * *

><p>During the ride to her apartment, Castle's fingers somehow end up twined with hers again. A quiet hum fills her body, a sense of contentment, of rightness and inevitable and real and sweet and no more resisting.<p>

(_What are you resisting, Kate?_)

* * *

><p>She actually keeps holding his hand all the way to her apartment. Castle feels giddy. It's different tonight. Something's different. It's better.<p>

Her fingers finally leave his when the driver pulls the car to the curb, and he immediately misses her. She climbs out and for a second he just sits. "Dad," Alexis hisses, tugging at his sleeve. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

"You bought her dinner and held her hand. Go walk her up to her door. What are you, a caveman?"

He scowls at her but obeys, because, well, yeah. She's right. Good girl.

Kate turns to discover him hurrying to catch up. "You need something?"

"Alexis told me to walk you to your door."

"You trained her well." She has this look on her face, this playful little smile that always floors him, and he can't help but stare longingly as the corners of her mouth curl up. God, she's gorgeous.

He follows silently as they climb the stairs, and then finally (and all too soon) they're in front of her door. She digs in her pocket for her keys, and he tries to muster up something clever. "Thanks for coming with us." _ Not your best work, Rick_.

"Thanks for inviting me. It was really nice."

"You're always welcome."

She flicks her eyes up to his through those dark lashes, her smile shy and sweet and utterly arresting. "Castle – " her voice is low and throaty, rich with amusement and warm with affection. "This is taking too long. Can we just cut to the chase?"

"The –what?"

She rolls her eyes (what?) and sets a hand on his shoulder (whoa) and then her fingers are sliding up to his jaw (_whoa_) and then suddenly she's kissing him (_ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_).

Her mouth is soft, and she tastes like wine and gelato and something else, something distinctive, something _Kate_. He tastes her carefully, humming low in his throat as her fingers slide through his hair, her nails scratching gently over his scalp. Her tongue slides over his, warm and wet and teasing, and he nips lightly at her bottom lip, catching the sigh she breathes into his mouth. He wants to kiss her every day. All the time.

It ends and he needs a second to process what just happened.

"That was amazing," he gets out. Wow. _Wow._

She just laughs. "Oh, come on, Castle. Wasn't that what you were trying to get up the nerve to do?"

"Well – yeah – but – I wasn't just going to dive in like that."

Her eyes drop to his lips for a second, but she just smiles that arch little smile. The one that's going to drive him crazy. And he's going to enjoy it. "Good thing I did, then."


	26. 2x17, Tick Tick Tick

A haiku for the dedication:

Stalky leopard, the  
>mind who makes the words better –<br>cartographical.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26: 2x17, Tick Tick Tick<strong>

_So how long have you two been sleeping together?_

Kate absolutely will not admit to him that she likes to relax with a glass of wine like this and she might actually be doing this even if he weren't here. She's been on edge since the moment she saw the feds drive onto her crime scene and start usurping every last ounce of her authority and even though she's finally at home, she's still wound up. Alert. (Hunted?) But he doesn't need to know that.

She does not want to foster this notion in Castle's mind, the notion that he can just pop in unannounced, hold up alcohol and schmooze his way inside. She doesn't. This will not become a regular thing.

Not that she's…worried…about anything. No. It's not like it's going to impair her judgment where it concerns him. It's _not_ like that. She just…doesn't want it to keep happening.

And he does _not_ look really, really attractive right now. Or ever. Just in general.

She grudgingly lets him rifle through her kitchen drawers for her corkscrew as she pulls out glasses and heads for the living room.

"So is this what you sleep in? Because not that you don't always look good, but I had really, reallyhigh hopes for something a little skankier. A lot skankier, actually."

Of course he did. "Don't be ridiculous, Castle," she drawls as he follows her into her living room, settling on the couch across from her. "These aren't my pajamas."

The look on his face is one of utter disbelief. His mouth actually falls open. She flicks her eyebrow up. _Didn't think I'd dish it out too, did you, Castle?_

"Please. Do tell."

She bites her lip, tells herself it's no big deal that she's flirting with him. It's harmless. "Who says I have anything to tell?"

His eyes get wide. "Please tell me that means what I think it means."

Seriously? "Do men really think all women sleep naked?"

"When the thought of it is so very appealing? Yes."

"How flattering," she deadpans. Of course, he's never really been subtle, has he?

He holds out wine, and she tries to say _no_. He won't have it. "No, no. Agent Shaw said we need to decompress. And nothing decompresses like a 2000 Chateau Neuf de Pâpe."

"Oh, well, if Special Agent Shaw said so." She can't _stand_ his new fascination.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." _Oh, no, Castle. You don't get this_. She deflects. She's good at deflecting. No way she's going to admit that it's really…well. No. Focus on the toys. "I just see the way that you listen to her. The way that you look at all of her fancy equipment. Now my murderboard's not enough for you? Now you need a smartboard?"

"Oh, I'm very fond of the murderboard," he leers. "I enjoy spending time with the murderboard. I really like taking everything _off_ the murderboard and listen to it squeak when I put my hands all over it."

Oh, come on. Seriously. She glares at him. Ignores the quick lance of heat through her blood at the thought of Castle's hands pulling things off and she just, she can't help it, he has big hands. Big, strong hands. There are so many things those hands could do.

She can usually censor these thoughts. Tonight she just can't.

_Kate, this is a bad idea_.

"Castle, I'm not – "

"I don't think this is about the case at all." Her heart sinks. Of all the times for Castle to suddenly pick up on something and refuse to lose his focus… "Are you _jealous?"_

"No," she hisses, then swears mentally. Way too fast. Easiest tell in the world. _Seriously, Kate_.

And of course he catches it, his eyes lighting up mischievously. "Kate Beckett is jealous. Oh, my, Detective. You are _green_ with envy."

"Castle. Shut up."

"No, no. This is healthy. We need to be honest with each other." He grins, way too pleased. "So what precisely makes you unhappy? Are you feeling threatened because she's honing in on your eye-candy?"

Kate feigns confusion. "She's not honing in on Ryan."

"Funny. Do you think it'd help to confront her? Tell her you need more alone time with your darling Castle?"

She rolls her eyes. "Why stop there? I might just challenge her to a jello-wrestling match."

"I think that would really, really help." He sets his wineglass down and leans back into the sofa cushions, his eyes dancing, and she sternly tells herself she doesn't want to get closer, run her tongue over the line of his jaw. She doesn't. _What is _wrong_ with you tonight, Kate? Get a grip_.

(_He_ could get a grip on her – slip his hands under her shirt, until his fingers brush against – )

_Shut up, Kate._

"Admit it. You're jealous because you don't like me spending time with her. Building theory. Talking about the case."

"That is completely – "

" – true?" he cuts in defiantly, arching an eyebrow.

Her face is getting hot, but she tries to keep herself together. He's leaning into her space, but she won't flinch. Won't admit he's getting under her skin.

But he smells so good.

"Don't worry." His eyes are a little too sincere, a little too warm. "You won't lose me. I'm all yours, Kate."

(_Kate_)

They're sitting way too close together to be respectable, talking quietly so she can't move away, and it's like gravity, this pull that's so natural, so inevitable she almost doesn't realize how close they are until her whole body is turned towards his, and she feels deliciously weak, her heart pounding, because this is _different_ and she's not sure –

(_I'm all yours, Kate_)

- his hand touches hers and the shock that runs through her almost makes her gasp, because there's no way a single touch can be so electric, and her whole body is awake, aware, on edge, waiting for –

"Castle – "

"Shhh."

She's not – but it's not – he's leaning closer, or is she? – and it's just –

- and then she's kissing him almost by accident.

She's so startled she doesn't know what to do. But Castle doesn't give her a chance to reconsider. His mouth is working over hers desperately, hot and pleading and seductive all at once and her head is spinning and she just doesn't want him to stop. Not now. Not when she's this wound up. This entire case is a mess of danger and sick fear and careful control and gritted teeth and she is _done holding back. _She wants to lose control.

So she lets him have it.

The shallow kiss gets deeper, and his tongue is aggressive and demanding and his hands are sliding under the hem of her shirt and it's exactly what she was thinking of but it's _so much better_ than she thought it would be. He tugs her knee, pulling her into his lap as his teeth sink lightly into her bottom lip. She rolls her hips down onto him slowly, relishing the sharp gasp she feels ripple through his chest, the sudden hot friction flooding her body with sparks.

"Oh, God, Kate – "

And then she's leaning back, tugging him with her until he crashes into her. Her sweater ends up on the floor and she ends up pinned to the couch beneath him.

"You know, if you think about it – "

"God, you're so _annoying_," she mumbles against his lips, sliding her hands under his shirt, raking her nails lightly over his skin.

"You're sexy when you're annoyed."

She bites his ear and he groans. "Shut up, Castle."

"You know," he manages between kisses, "I know another really good way to decompress."

"As long as it involves you _not_ talking anym- _ohhhhhh_ –" she gasps as his tongue hits a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Her hips rock involuntarily, driving her lower body into his, making them both groan deeply.

"So what do your pajamas look like, Kate?"

"You really want to see them?"

"No." He kisses her hard, hot, unrelenting. "No, I want to see what's under them."

She can't stop kissing him, so she drags him with her, impatient, bumping into the end table and then hissing as she hits her elbow on the wall as she tries to get him out of the living room before he gets her completely naked.

"Impatient much?" he whispers into her mouth, and she growls, biting at his lip. Oh, the look on his face. His eyes are dark, hot, dangerous.

"Keep teasing me and you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"And leave you all hot and bothered? Never. I'm here to help you, baby."

"If you _ever_ call me 'baby' again, I will have you know, Mr. Castle, that I sleep with a gun."

He yanks her t-shirt over her head and kisses her hard and brief as she finally gets him into her bedroom. "That is so hot."

The door shuts behind him and he pins her up against it, and it's only seconds before her laughter turns into a long, breathy moan. And then there's no more talking.

* * *

><p>The morning after they lose control becomes the morning a body is dumped on top of her newspaper.<p>

That's definitely a first.

So instead of a leisurely breakfast and maybe another round on her couch, they get an insane psycho who still wants her dead, a victim, and crime scene tape. And federal investigators. Who already thought they were sleeping together.

_Shit_.

Kate's in the kitchen answering questions, glaring at Ryan for some reason. Castle's impressed. She's poised. Her hair is smooth, pajamas un-rumpled, and she looks every inch the professional, even in that adorable baggy t-shirt and leggings (she hastily pulled on clothes before the feds got here).

Of course, now that he knows what every inch looks like _without_ the pajamas –

He blinks, forces his mind back to murder. Away from Kate's naked body. Oh, that body, arching up against him as he sucks a line down the column of her throat, lets his hand slide further and further down until she's whimpering underneath him, her nails digging into his back as she begs him _faster please oh yes oh just like that_ –

As if she's telepathic, she glances up from the kitchen and her eyes catch his. The message is clear. _Castle. This is not the time._

He clamps down on any lingering desires to just stride over and grab her for everyone to see. He needs to follow her example. For all anyone knows, he slept on the couch last night. And he meant to, he really did; he came here to protect her as best he could, if only as a doorstop to give her time to react if she got attacked. That's their story. And she's resolute, unflinching. No one would know, just from watching her, that the kitchen island she's leaning against is exactly where he pushed her up onto the counter an hour ago, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and –

Um.

Probably should stop thinking about that right now.

Especially if he ever wants it to happen again.

(He really, really does.)

Unfortunately, Ryan and Esposito don't seem to be buying the couch story. And in their defense, he has to admit…yeah. The couch story is pathetic. The only way to spend the night on Kate Beckett's couch would be with her on it too. Preferably without clothes.

And the way she ended up in his lap, sinking her hips into his, pulling him into her bedroom, and then her hands, and then her _mouth_ –

Nope. Not right now.

"I see Beckett in her jammies, wine glasses on the table – "

Oh. Should have cleaned those up. "There is nothing going on between Beckett and me. No more than there was yesterday." (Technically, they started going at it against her bedroom door before midnight. So it's not exactly a lie.)

Ryan gives him a look that says _I _know _you slept with her._ "Dude. You made her pancakes."

"It's just breakfast." Why does no one even _pretend_ to believe that he slept on her couch? Is it _that _lame of a story?

Esposito will have none of it. "Pancakes is not 'just breakfast.' It's an edible way of saying _thank you so much for last night_.'"

(She's flexible. _Ver__y_ flexible.)

"Come on, Castle. We're your friends. Details."

Oh, come on, seriously. No. He can't. Not when Ryan and Esposito are like her little brothers (_not_ okay), and definitely not in a room full of people who already thought they were doing this.

(And how is it possible that their first time was a frenzy of _so hot_ and _you're mine_ and a tiny bit of _life is short, why are we waiting?_)

Castle pulls the guys in, and they're grinning, thinking they're going to hear wild tales of lechery and debauchery and wild orgiastic –

He says it clearly for them. "_There are no details_."

(She's loud_._)

Esposito gives him a disgusted glare. "I can't even look at you right now."

(They didn't make it to the bed the first time.)

Ryan purses his mouth, scribbling on his little notebook. " 'Witness…refuses…to…cooperate.'"

(He woke up sometime in the night to find her hot mouth trailing down his chest, down, down, down _oh God Kate_ until his hand was fisted in her hair as he groaned helplessly under her.)

There are no details. No details.

…for anyone else.


	27. 3x18, One Life To Lose

Cartographical, you are the columella to the nose of my life. So to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27: 3x18, One Life To Lose<strong>

_Katherine Beckett, I never…_

A cast photo. Castle got her a signed cast photo from _Temptation Lane_.

Kate spends about a millisecond pretending she's not delighted, but she can't help it. The smile on her face won't go away, and it feels wide enough to outlast the entire sky.

(He knows how to make her smile.)

And then he's watching her with such a patient look, the one that says he'll wait for the details, that he'll take anything she'll give him…

…and suddenly she doesn't want to hold it back. She wants -

She wants to share.

"Okay. I was nine, and I had to get my tonsils taken out. And I was miserable. And so my mom took time off of work, and – stayed with me, and cuddled up in front of the TV on the couch, and we would watch episodes of _Temptation Lane_." She's so caught up in the memory, she almost doesn't see the soft look on his face. "So every time I see it now, it just – it makes me feel like home and – safe." She looks back at him, and for some absurd reason, her whole body feels utterly warm, filled with light. "So there you go. Judge away."

And even just telling him about it, it's like she's back, she's a little girl curled up on the couch again. She can smell her mother's perfume, feel the hard patch of that spot on the throw pillow where she accidentally spilled nail polish on the damask when she was seven. It's vivid and warm and beautiful and too much, too much to deal with, and she looks up into his eyes and she can't look away, because she can't stop –

"My DVR would make yours look like _Masterpiece Theater_ – " she can't help but grin at that, because she's seen the number of episodes of _Spongebob_ and _RuPaul's Drag Race_ he has banked up – "but I am glad to know this about you."

He's smiling at her, that wonderful smile of his that brightens everything, and those blue eyes are so –

Her phone rings. It's Josh.

Castle's face gets the look, the look she pretends she doesn't understand. The one that says _I'm trying to look happy_. It's crushing – she can't explain it, but it hurts her more deeply than seeing real anger from him.

He presses his palm to the desk as he stands to go. "I'll leave you to it."

That's it?

She's about to pick up the phone. And she's suddenly seized with this crushing need, this desperate want, and she can't stop herself from just blurting out something, anything, to get a smile from him again. "Hey Castle? Thank you for the photo."

"I'll see you."

He almost smiles.

(It's worse than a glare.)

He walks away and she watches him go, her chest twisting with a sudden ache for – for _something_, she doesn't know –

(_Kate. You know _exactly_ what it is, don't you?_)

She looks down for her ringing phone, but beside it, where he pressed his hand, she finds something else.

He left a chocolate kiss on her desk.

Her cheeks flush. It's dark chocolate. He knows it's her favorite. Just like he knows how she takes her coffee. He knows her three favorite Chinese orders. He knows how to make her laugh. And he knows the darkest, ugliest parts of her past, the jagged edges and pockmarks on her heart that have left her wounded and wary of all the good that could surround her.

And he still comes back to her every day.

The kiss is rich and warm and melts on her tongue and floods her mouth with overwhelming, dark sweetness.

She picks up her phone just in time to catch it before it goes to voicemail, but even as she answers, she can taste Castle's kiss on her lips.

* * *

><p>Later on, Josh is kissing her, and his hands are slipping under her shirt when she just can't. She can't. It's wrong. His mouth is stealing her air and she's suffocating and her heart is pounding and she can't breathe. She needs to get away.<p>

"Josh – " She pulls back, pushes his hands away. "I can't."

"What's wrong, babe?"

"I can't do this." She looks away, rubs her face with shaking hands. "I just can't do this anymore, Josh."

He seems to get it. He takes a step back, and Kate swallows. He's not happy. He knows. She can see his jaw tighten. The silence stretches, heavy and clear and too obvious. Too obvious for anything else.

"It's him, isn't it?"

She can't say no. She wants to say no. But she can't.

Josh doesn't even seem surprised.

(It was the wrong kiss.)

* * *

><p>After he leaves, she almost calls Castle. She has the phone in her hand. But what would she say? <em>I broke up with him? He acted like he was expecting it?<em>

_(I did it for you.)_

There's nothing that works. Everything that crosses her mind is too much, about five steps ahead of anything she's willing to concede.

She makes herself go to bed without talking to him. She'll see him tomorrow when she's more stable. She'll figure it out then.

* * *

><p>She wakes up early the next morning, her heart hammering. She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, hard, trying to catch up to reality. Her cheeks are warm. Her eyes are wet.<p>

It wasn't a bad dream.

It was good. Too good.

Rain-streaked windows. Cuddling on the couch. Eating chocolate kisses with a little girl with soft brown pigtails and fuzzy purple footie pajamas, a little girl who snuggles in her arms and plants a chocolatey kiss on her cheek and whispers _Mommy, can I_ –

She doesn't remember what the little girl asked. The dream is already getting hazy around the edges, dissolving into waking and the muted sounds of the street below and the pale light of her bedroom.

But she remembers clearly that the little girl had impossibly blue eyes.


	28. 2x11, The Fifth Bullet

If you are of age and interested, Cartographical and shimmeryshine and I just co-wrote the second chapter of Carto's story "Slippery When." You might check it out.

Cartographical, you are lovely.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: 2x11, The Fifth Bullet<strong>

_Disapproving, judgmental…you're totally my work wife._

Castle stares, motionless, as Beckett stalks out of the bullpen, pulling her coffee-soaked shirt away from her skin.

Okay. Well. That didn't go how he planned it.

Once she's gone, he takes the now-mostly-empty cups to the break room and comes back out, but she's still not here.

The boys, at their desks, see him, and Ryan laughs. "Hey, nice work, butterfingers."

"Ha. Thanks." Castle scowls at Ryan, who just grins back.

Esposito looks up from his computer. "You picked a good day to dump coffee on her, bro."

"What?"

"Oh, come on, man. You just _happen_ to pick the day she's wearing a white shirt?" Castle glares. Esposito raises his hands. "Just saying. Hell of a coincidence."

"Cut it out. It was an accident." Castle looks around. No sign of her. "Where'd she go?"

Ryan shrugs. "Said she was going to the locker room to clean up."

"Oh. Well – I have – " Castle reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little packet of wet wipes. "I always have them when I travel. Would these be a peace offering? Or do you think – "

"Dude. Go." Esposito nods. "She might not kill you. _Might_."

"But she's – "

Ryan scoffs. "Dude, it's a unisex locker room. We all keep a clean shirt in there. Just go."

Well, maybe he's right.

And the boys wouldn't lie, right?

* * *

><p>He's never been in the locker room before, though he's walked past it. It's upstairs, near one of the older storage rooms, and the hallway's deserted. Hmm.<p>

Well, Ryan said it was unisex; there's nothing on the door to indicate otherwise. So he opens the door and steps inside.

Beckett's alone in the locker room.

And she's not wearing a shirt.

_Holy_ –

"Oh – my God – "

She gasps, whirling around, clutching a clean shirt to her chest. "_Castle! _ Get _out!"_

It's too late, because he's already seen her. Already seen what she's wearing under her shirt. And there is no possible way in a million billion trillion years he is ever, _ever_ going to forget that Kate Beckett wears black lace under her clothes. Coy, sexy, demure black lace that hugs her body, teasing him with just enough of the swell of her breasts to drive him crazy, and that little white bow between them, taunting him, so perfect against her smooth, pale skin, and he just wants so badly –

"_Castle!"_

He jolts back to reality to discover that he's still gaping at her chest and she's looking more homicidal by the second.

"Did you do this on purpose?" she hisses, her eyes flashing danger and death and _shit_ she is so hot when she's angry and almost topless. "Because I swear, if you dumped coffee on me just to get a chance to – "

"No! No, I swear – I just – I came to see if – " Shit, he had a reason for coming here, he's sure, he must have, he just – he – it –

- she's _not wearing a shirt_.

"Castle, you have about two seconds before I shoot you."

"What?" He looks back up at her face again.

…maybe he should stop looking at her chest.

"Get _out_ of here!" She's scowling. He should be scared. Normally he would be. But right now he is _way_ too turned on to care.

So he goes with his default response to everything: push her just a little bit more.

"What, are you uncomfortable?"

Her eyes widen – she apparently wasn't expecting him to risk taunting her, which is foolish of her because why on _earth_ would he pass up a chance to make her chest heave when she's basically topless? – but then she goes back to glaring. "Stop staring at me, Castle."

"That's not underwear you wear if you don't want someone to see it." It's the kind of underwear designed to end up on a bedroom floor. It's what a woman wears to drive a man crazy. To make him take it off her with his teeth. To –

_Stop. Stop right now_.

Her eyes narrow. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Then why haven't you put your shirt on yet?"

"You don't scare me."

"I don't scare you? Fine." If she's not embarrassed, then he can say whatever he wants to. "You're hot. You are so smoking hot right now."

Her eyes get wide. Her cheeks are pink. _What? Like you didn't know, Beckett?_

Her mouth falls open, but she says nothing. So he barrels on. It's exhilarating, being able to say what he really thinks. "I don't think you're angry at me. I think you like the way I'm looking at you."

"You son of a – "

"You're wearing black lace."

"Get out of here, Castle."

"I don't think you mean that."

"I do."

"Make me." He still has no idea why he came here in the first place, but hell if he's leaving now. "You want me to leave, you make me go, Beckett."

* * *

><p>Dangerous. Oh, Kate. Dangerous.<p>

He's not leaving.

She swallows, her heart hammering in her chest.

He's coming closer.

The shirt in her hands hits the floor and she barely notices. Her skin is burning. He's serious. And that look in his eyes. Hungry.

"Castle – " She tries for authoritative. Her voice comes out husky. Desire flickers over his face, rough and dangerous and there's _no one else here to stop them_ –

She takes an instinctive step back. Her body hits her locker and he's _right there_, too close, and he smells so good and she just can't look away and the heat of his body is warming her skin. She licks her lips nervously, sees his glance immediately flick down to her mouth, linger there. A shiver of desire runs through her, shimmering under her skin.

"Kate."

Her heart is racing, her face hot, her breath shallow. Oh, that voice.

"Kate – "

She just –

His fingers trace the line of her arm, sending sparks of heat through her bare skin, and the shock is so immediate, so visceral, so wrong, she just can't, just –

Before she can think about it, she's grabbing his face and pulling him down and then she's _kissing _him and –

- and he's kissing her back.

He doesn't hesitate. His mouth is rough, demanding, his tongue aggressive against hers. His hands slide up the curve of her spine, and he swallows the soft moan she lets out. Her hands are clutching desperately at his shoulders, and then he's shoving her back against the locker and his knee is sliding between her legs and she can't stop herself from sinking down onto him, groaning into his kiss, her body arching into his, and it's so hot and it's so fast and so _bad_ but so _good_ and she's frantically trying to get his shirt _off_ and he's pulling her hips roughly against him and _oh_, oh right _there_, like _that _oh _yes_ –

"Oh, what the _hell_ – "

She gasps, whirls around to find Esposito standing in the doorway, staring at them, his jaw slack. Oh, shit. Shit.

"Esposito – " Castle's hands are still on her. Dammit. She tries to pull away.

"Oh, my God, are you _kidding_ me?" Esposito grimaces. "Come on! Nasty! We _all_ use this locker room."

"We're not – "

"Yeah. Whatever." He scowls. "I mean, seriously, you couldn't wait till you got off work?"

"It's not like that!" Oh, jeez. No. He can't seriously think – "It's not what you think. We're not – we're not together. Not like that."

Esposito looks unimpressed. "Sorry, Beckett. Maybe you could put your shirt on and then try saying that again?"

_Shit_.

She hastily grabs her clean shirt from the floor, tugs it over her head and looks up to find Esposito smirking and Castle looking like he has no idea what to do.

"Esposito, do you have a point coming here?"

"Besides stopping you from making little precinct babies?"

"_Esposito_." She musters up enough ice in her tone that he looks a little chastened. A little. Not enough.

Castle clears his throat. "This is your fault. You guys told me to come in here."

"What we _told_ you was that it's a unisex locker room. I didn't realize I'd have to explain that you have to _knock_," Esposito shoots back. "Of course, if you just wanted to get some, I guess – "

"_Esposito!_" She glares at him. Dammit, dammit, this is bad.

"You know what? I don't want to know. I'm gonna head back downstairs. Come find me when you're done doing…whatever it is you're doing." He leaves with a shudder, muttering something that sounds vaguely like _gross_ and _Mom and Dad_ and _serious therapy_.

For a moment after he leaves, she and Castle just stare. She has no idea what to say. No idea. There's no protocol (at least that she knows) for how to address Rick Castle after he's soaked you with coffee, walked in on you changing, and then –

_- and then you made out with him like a horny teenager_.

Her face gets hot.

"Um."

Castle sounds awkward. She can sympathize. But this is okay; they can deal with this; she just needs to approach it cautiously, figure out how to proceed. "Castle – "

"That really just happened."

She looks back at him, startled. "What?"

"You know what? Screw it." Castle shrugs. "He saw it. We just kissed. A lot."

So much for approaching it cautiously.

(But _oh God_ the heat from his hands is still burning on her skin, still seared into her body, and she wants _so badly_ to just pull him into one of the showers and turn on the water to hide the noise but they _shouldn't_ but _oh_ – )

"Kate, do you want to go to dinner with me after we finish this case?"

She gapes.

But…like he said. Esposito knows. No point in hiding now, right?

"Uh – I – I guess so." Is he serious?

"Good."

He leans in and kisses her, brief, easy, like he does it every day.

(Like he thinks about it every day.)

"Okay. Why don't you finish up, and I'll see you back downstairs."

Castle leaves, whistling, hands in his pockets. She stares at her locker, tries to remember how to lock it again, tries to force down the overwhelming wave of pure _want_ that's drowning her.

Did she just – ?

"Kate?"

She turns, heart pounding, to find Castle leaning back in the room.

"About our date."

_Date_. Holy –

She swallows. "Yeah?"

"Don't worry about taking advantage of me."

"What?"

"We've been to dinner before this," he grins. "This is probably at _least_ the third date."

Heat floods her face. She bites her lip. Oh. Really?

In that case –

"So what kind of underwear should I wear then, Castle?"

A smile curls over his face, his eyes downright evil.

"Anything that'll look good on the bedroom floor."

* * *

><p>He gets to her place right on time the next night.<p>

She opens the door.

They miss their reservation.


	29. 4x21, Headhunters

I will be honest. I did write a fair amount of this while watching _Dinoshark._

…I regret nothing.

Except maybe that I didn't immediately follow by watching _Dinocroc vs. Supergator._

Cartographical, you are my fic soulmate. All other fic soulmates are to you as moonlight unto sunlight and water unto wine. I think I stole that whole line from L.M. Montgomery? idk. Whatever. You get my point.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29, 4x21: Headhunters<strong>

_Storm the beaches or die trying._

Ethan Slaughter in her precinct. Richard Castle walking away from her. Coffee that suddenly tastes like ashes.

It's been a long time since she's felt this deeply unhappy.

She gathers her things, pulls on her jacket, and heads for the parking garage. Tonight is going to be a comfort food night.

In the garage, she hears commotion. Rolls her eyes. Probably two uniforms bickering. She turns to give them a sharp reprimand, because she is in no mood to deal with idiots right now.

But it's Slaughter. It's Slaughter and Castle.

It's Slaughter beating the shit out of Castle.

He's growling something she can't hear, his fists landing with sickening dull blows. She can see Castle stumbling, hands raised to protect himself; there's red blossoming over his face.

She's running towards them before she can think, swearing at herself for leaving her gun locked in her desk, panicking as she sees Slaughter land a solid blow to Castle's face. Castle stumbles, blood streaming from his nose. He's trying to fight back. He's failing miserably. Slaughter's huge and vicious and way too strong; Castle hasn't got a chance.

She finally gets to the little brawl and throws Slaughter off her partner, angling herself in front of Castle to shield him. Slaughter's too startled to land a hit on her. She takes the opportunity to land a solid elbow in his solar plexus; he doubles over and she knees him in the groin. Hard. He wheezes.

"Get the hell out of here," she hisses. Grinds her heel down on his foot for good measure. Relishes the agonized yelp he lets out as he hits the ground. "You set foot in my precinct again and I'll have you singing soprano till you retire, you piece of trash."

"Fuckin' - " Slaughter manages to choke out. "You _bitch_ - "

"Go. And leave my partner alone." Slaughter scowls darkly at her but doesn't move. She takes Castle's arm. "Come on, Castle. Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

><p>So instead of going home and losing herself in pasta and red wine, Kate takes Castle back inside the station, past several officers who openly stare at the battered author.<p>

She takes him into the break room, where there's a well-stocked first aid kit. "Here." She pushes him down carefully into a chair and reaches for the paper towels, wadding up a few and pressing them to his nose, trying to wipe away all the blood. "Hold these here, okay?"

He obligingly presses the towels to his nose while she rummages through the freezer and digs out an old icepack. He hisses as she eases it onto his swollen cheek. "Sorry."

He shrugs a little. Doesn't say anything. He isn't pressing this, whining about her being gentle to his poor wounded self. He isn't trying anything. He's not looking at her and he's not even talking and this is _not_ the Castle she knows and l-

- works with.

She cautiously peels the bloody towels off his nose – the bleeding has pretty well stopped – and tosses them in the trash. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

She stops. Stares at him. He sighs heavily. "Fine. He said something, okay? And I just – it – I couldn't let him say that."

"So you hit him?"

"That was the plan." He winces as her gently prodding fingers hit a tender spot on his cheek. "It didn't go like I thought it would."

She hates this bland, empty shadow of Castle. He hasn't made a single naughty nurse joke. She so desperately wants her filthy-minded manchild of a partner back. Because he's _hers_.

He says nothing while she presses a butterfly bandage onto the cut on his cheekbone, smoothing down the edges carefully, letting her fingers whisper over his skin just a hair longer than strictly necessary. His eyes flicker shut for a second. Heat traces through her veins, and this is bad, because she just meant to patch him up, not feel him up. Not when he's spent the last few weeks acting like he hasn't spent the past four years running after her.

She swallows. Tries to pull herself together. "What did he say?"

Castle's face gets very, very dark. He doesn't say anything.

"Was it – did he – "

"I'd rather not talk about it."

But he's avoiding her eyes even more than he already was. He's uncomfortable. And Kate knows. She knows.

"Was it – was it about me?" He still won't meet her eyes. "Castle? Was it – "

"Just let it go, okay?"

* * *

><p>(There is no way he will <em>ever<em> repeat what Slaughter said. The things that man wanted Beckett to do to him. The sick way he wanted to dominate her. The word he used to describe her. Never.)

He grits his teeth, ignoring the wave of painful tension it sends through his face. This is Beckett. Beckett. Who lied. Who's _still lying _to him. His jaw clenches. _Ouch._

"Castle. Here. Relax, okay?"

Her fingertips whisper over his face and dammit, she's so gentle, so soft, and why does she have to be so – so tender? She doesn't care about him. She needs to stop this. Needs to –

- her thumb ghosts over his bottom lip, sending a blaze of heat through him and _dammit_, Kate, why are you –

He loves her and he hates her for doing this to him and he hates himself so much more because he can't stop her, because even this faint, delicate touch makes him think _maybe she does_ but he knows she _doesn't_ and his face _hurts_ and why does she have to keep _touching _him –

"Castle?"

There's a hitch in her breath.

Is she – is she getting choked up?

What is going _on?_

"Beckett?" His voice comes out a little rougher than he meant it. He swallows. "What's wrong?"

* * *

><p>It slips out before she can stop it. "Where have you been, Castle?"<p>

He looks confused. "What?"

She feels lightheaded, like the air is suddenly so thick and heavy she can't get it into her lungs. She swallows, curling her fingers around a box of bandaids. "I don't know what's happened, Castle, I don't know if - if I did something, or - I - I just miss you. I want my partner back."

There's a long silence. It hurts. Every second ticks by, an agonizing test, so silent, so painful, she wants him to say something. Anything. Just to stop this.

"What are you talking about, Beckett?"

She flicks a glance up at him. Nothing. His face is blank. She misses the warm crinkle in his eyes so fiercely she can't breathe. And she needs him to call her _Kate_ again. She needs it.

"Castle, why are you angry at me?"

He looks up, startled, but she can see the sudden reaction in his face.

_Castle, what did I do?_

* * *

><p>(Dammit, she needs to stop <em>looking<em> at him like that, with those beautiful eyes of hers so close to tears that he just wants to wipe them all away and kiss her sadness into a smile but _dammit_, Rick, this is _exactly_ why – )

He is, God, yes, he's angry, but it's worse than that. He's hurt. He's wounded. Hearing her say _I remember every second_ put a vicious, bitter cut on his heart, a jagged line in his chest that still aches, a dull throb that's lasting.

She blinks, clearly not sure what to do. "Did I do something? If - if I did, Castle, I'm so sorry, I just - will you please tell me what's wrong?"

* * *

><p>There's a long silence. She holds her breath.<p>

He finally lets out a heavy sigh, and he visibly deflates before her eyes. Slumps. Like he's giving up. And in the split second before he opens his mouth, she knows this is bad. Whatever it is. It's going to hurt.

"The bombing case." His voice is flat. "You were interrogating a suspect. And you had no trouble telling _him_." He grimaces in pain for a second, fingers tracing the growing bruise on his cheek. "You 'got shot in the chest' and you remember '_every second._' Every second, Beckett."

Interrogation.

Bobby.

Anger.

_I cracked_.

Oh.

Her stomach drops like a stone, her whole body suddenly slack.

He heard.

* * *

><p>He steels himself against the look of shock that flicks over her face. Her eyes go wide, mouth open. And he watches as her expression shifts from shock to – horror?<p>

He makes himself look away, because angry as he is, he's defenseless against her, has no resistance to his instinctive desire to hold her and soothe her (even though _she_ hurt _him_) when she looks like this, beautiful and vulnerable and devastated and so very close to tears.

He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand why suddenly it seems to matter. Why does she look like he's just broken her heart? _I never had it in the first place, Beckett. Stop looking at me like that._

"Castle – "

He tells himself not to look at her, not to react to the catch in her voice, but he can't help it. He listens.

"Castle – I didn't – "

"Didn't mean for me to find out? You thought it would be better this way?" Anger flares in his chest, tight and dark and bitter and hopeless. "You just wanted me to keep following you around forever, is that it? I never thought you were the kind to string a man along, Beckett."

* * *

><p>"String - you along?" She blinks, not sure what he means by th-<p>

Oh.

He thinks –

"Castle, I wasn't stringing you along. I would never – "

"Then why have you been _lying_ to me for a _year?_ A year, Kate!" His voice is raised, his face dark with hurt and anger and she hates so much that it's because of her. "I thought at the _very_ least you'd be honest with me."

"I wasn't – "

"How hard would it have been? You couldn't have found ten seconds out of your _busy_ schedule to just sit me down and say 'Castle, I just don't – "

"Castle!" She just can't take it anymore, can't listen to him say this. Before she thinks about it, she presses her hand to his mouth, cuts him off, shivering at the sudden warmth of his lips on her palm. "Castle. I'm sorry. I – I know what you think, but it's not – it's not like that. Please. Just let me explain."

What more does she have to lose?

(_I can't lose something that's fallen apart._)

* * *

><p>He's frozen, unable to stop her, because her fingers are on his lips (his literary mind whispers <em>give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss<em>) and he's an idiot and he's pathetic and he can't even stay _angry_ at this woman but he is just so sick of fighting her that he has no energy left.

Satisfied he's not going to interrupt, she drops her hand, and he hates himself a little for immediately missing her touch. She runs her hand through her hair – he can't help but notice it doesn't look quite steady – and takes a shaky breath (and he still doesn't see why she's this rattled about just having to say _Castle, I don't love you_) but he can't do anything but sit mutely and watch her choose the words that are going to officially crush the pieces that are left of his stupid boyish heart.

He's determined to just grit his teeth and take it like a man. He's not prepared for the hands on his face, the soft fingers on his jaw, turning his face back toward her in spite of his best intentions. And he's not prepared for the faint, barely-there whisper of her lips on his.

* * *

><p>It's not that she meant to do it, kiss him like that, out of nowhere, but he was just so closed off, so unconvinced. She couldn't <em>not<em>. And it was so quick, so light, so cautious. Just enough to make her want more. Desperately.

When she opens her eyes, his are still screwed shut. He's tense. His face is frozen, his breath quick. Her hands are still on his face, and she can feel the thread of his pulse under his skin, thrumming and hectic and terrified.

And confused.

"Beckett – " he chokes it out like it hurts, like every word takes effort – "why are you doing this?"

Her breath catches and she hates herself because this is what her silence has done. She never _ever _thought she would kiss him and he would pull away.

"Because I care about you. And I'm sorry."

His eyes finally lock with hers, and Kate desperately wants to kiss him again, kiss him senseless, kiss him until he melts and kisses her back and his fingers curl around her neck and tangle in her hair and his tongue presses against hers and he finally understands what she doesn't know how to say (it's all knotted in her chest) because she's not good at talking.

But not talking was what created this mess in the first place, apparently.

* * *

><p>He can't process it. Can't let himself believe. But – but her hands are so gentle on his face, like she <em>does<em> care about him, and she _kissed_ him, and she's whispering that she's sorry and she cares about him and he wants so hard for it all to be real (because he's terrible at not loving her).

"Castle, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She swallows, tracing his jaw with her thumb, and he can't suppress the shudder that runs through him. "If I'd realized – if I'd known how much it would hurt you – "

She looks down, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and he finally lets himself chance it, reaches up to graze the corner of her mouth with his thumb, careful, testing. And she sighs, turning her head into his touch, tilting her head to kiss his thumb softly.

His heart does a wild flip in his chest before he can tell it not to.

Because for the first time since _I remember every second_, he thinks maybe it's not hopeless.

"It wasn't that I didn't care about you. That I didn't want to hear it. I just – I couldn't do it. I couldn't ruin you." She takes one of his hands in hers, traces the lines and joints under her fingers, light and delicate and so very gentle. "I was more than a mess, Castle. I couldn't function. It took everything I had just to open my eyes in the morning. I told myself I was protecting you. And I was too scared to admit that I was just curling up into a ball and hiding. You were right. You were always right. I just didn't want to hear it. "

He threads his fingers through hers, and his whole body floods with warmth at the warm press of her palm. He's been so terribly distant recently. He hates it. He wants it over.

"Castle. I'm sorry."

His chest feels like it's going to explode because his heart is pounding against his ribs so hard, so hard it almost hurts (his face still hurts anyway) but he doesn't _care_ because he was _wrong_ and he still has a _chance_ with her and she's the most beautiful, frustrating, challenging, maddening woman he's ever met in his life and she is _all he wants_.

She's cradling his hand in hers like he's precious, like she treasures it. He'd almost lost hope that he'd ever find out how loving Kate Beckett could be. And she loves him. She does love him. He knows it now. It's all over her face, sparkling in her eyes, dancing in her smile, radiating from every inch of her. She's even more beautiful than ever.

* * *

><p>His whole face is beaming in spite of the bruises, like he's forgotten about them anyway, and Kate's breath catches at what a wondrous thing it is because he's so unguardedly happy.<p>

His fingers curl gently around the nape of her neck, tugging her closer, and all she can think is _Finally_ as his lips capture hers.

* * *

><p>"What the hell, Irish. I just want some damn coffee."<p>

Karpowski glares at him, but Ryan shakes his head. "Sorry. Break room's in use right now. Try downstairs."

"Not that shit. Not when we've got the fancy crap." She glares at them. "What are you two hiding?"

Ryan opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks to his partner for backup. Esposito folds his arms. "Just saying that maybe there are people in there who deserve some privacy."

Her eyes narrow. "Are there now."

"And maybe it's been four years and they've been going through some kind of crap lately and they just need to not be interrupted."

Ryan nods. "Yeah, and maybe one of them actually _gave_ us that coffee machine, so you could just ease up a bit."

Karpowski eyes them suspiciously, but her mouth is turning upwards. "Well. I guess hypothetically, I could be convinced to wait."

Esposito nods. "And maybe you just don't think to mention anything to the captain."

She laughs. "Yeah. Because Gates is all about the chatting."

Ryan grins and folds his arms. "Exactly."

She looks down at her empty cup. "Well, you know what, I drink too much of this stuff anyway. Maybe it's time for water." She glances back up at the break room. "Besides, I'd hate to walk in on these hypothetical people. Doing hypothetical things. With hypothetical clothes on the floor."

Ryan grimaces. "Oh, that is _nasty_. Don't even."

"Yeah. Dude." Esposito shakes his head. "They're just talking."

* * *

><p>Kate's back hits the wall and his lips are rough on hers, desperate, needy, his tongue delving deep in her mouth as she sighs. His lower body drives into hers and she gasps, clutching at his shoulders, and he's so frantic and it's so fast and hot and desperate but it's so <em>good<em> and how does he know _exactly_ what she likes –

His hands frame her face, brushing her hair back, tipping her chin up so he can devour her even more thoroughly, and there's heat flaring in her veins and her heart is hammering and it's too fast but she doesn't want to stop and he's –

He stops suddenly, his body tensing, and at first she's not sure if she should be insulted. But she sees the painful grimace, the hand he puts to his bruised cheek. His eyes are shut and it's not just from desire.

"Oh, Castle, I'm sorry – " Idiot. She swears at herself. The man has a battered face, why didn't she _think_ –

He looks back at her, a wry smile crossing his lips through the pain. "Nah. Worth it."

She can't help the blush that spreads over her cheeks, the laugh that bubbles up. "Put the ice back on it. It'll be fine."

"Yeah." His blue eyes get very warm. Very serious. She swallows. He brushes his hand over her cheek. "We'll be fine."


	30. 2x20, The Late Shaft

So I kind of desperately needed this chapter, because apparently right now EVERYONE IS WRITING ANGSTY FIC and I cannot DEAL. UGH. So let's turn off the Adele for a few minutes.

Dearest Cartographical: LOVE.

Also, I keep giggling over the word "shaft." Heeeeeeeeeeee.

This fic is set toward the end, where Castle's leaving for the night and mentions to Beckett that he has "a big date."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30: 2x20, The Late Shaft<br>**_  
>Is this some kind of a weird come-on?<em>

Oh, come on, _seriously_. Ellie Monroe? The woman whores around to get a movie role and he's _still _falling into bed with her like some pervy sugar daddy? That is _disgusting. _"You're kidding, right? You're going out with Ellie Monroe even though you _know_ the only reason that she was interested in you was for a _part?_ Have you lost all sense of human _decency_ and self res-_"_ What is _wrong_ with him and why the hell is he _smiling_ – "What?"

His eyes are wide and innocent and way too blue and she has the distinct feeling maybe she's missing the joke here –

"My 'big date?' – is with Alexis. She's getting back from her trip."

…oh.

That's –

He walks off with a smug look on his face and Kate gapes. Damn it, damn it, that sounded –

"Castle. Wait. You know I wasn't – I didn't mean – "

Castle pauses and turns around, and he twitches an eyebrow up in amusement. Kate curses her sudden stupid inability to speak. Great. Now he thinks –

She tries again. "I just meant I thought it was – irresponsible."

"Oh, really." He starts walking back towards her. No, no no no, Castle. Go away. She has the sinking feeling that she might not win this. "You know, that's funny, because for a second there, that sounded a little _jealous_, Beckett."

"I am _not_ jealous. You can sleep with whoever you want," she forces out.

"It's 'whomever,' actually." He grins at her glare. "And you know, you don't have to deny it. You can just give in to your deep-seated _owwwwwww_, Beckett, _ouch_."

She lets go of his nose and he whimpers faintly, rubbing it with puppydog eyes (she does _not_ love those, she does _not_, they are _not_ adorable). "There is no deep-seated anything. Stop being childish."

"You angling for a date of your own here, Detective? Because you could just ask if you – "

"Shut _up_." She scowls. No. She does _not_ want a date with this arrogant, smug son of a –

(The thought flickers through her mind that he looks really, really good today. She ruthlessly quashes it.)

"No, no, don't be shy. There's plenty of Big Rick to go around," he leers.

"You should go. Alexis will be waiting."

"Not till later. Plenty of time to show you what you're missing out on, Beckett."

"Castle, I am _not_ – mmmph."

By the time she figures out why she can't finish her sentence, he's finished kissing her, pulling away, his mouth leaving hers with an audible smack.

_Oh God he just kissed me what do I even _do–

Kate stares, her cheeks burning, and his face melts into a wicked grin.

_Should have slapped him. Damn it. Now he thinks – _

She finally finds her voice. "What – the _hell_ – "

"I mean. Since you don't care and all."

He saunters off with a self-satisfied grin she just wants to wipe right off his face.

- no, no no no, not like _that_ –

_Damn it._


	31. 4x16, Linchpin

Today's paean to my editress:

There once was a person named Carto  
>who was so incredibly smarto;<br>I loved her because  
>my sweet dove she was,<br>the editor dear of my heart-o.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 31: 4x16, Linchpin<strong>

_If you're stubborn enough to keep going, I'm stupid enough to go with you__._

Water. Water everywhere.

Seat belt.

Gun.

Hands. Limp.

She's not moving.

_Kate – _

He grabs. Kicks. Body moving as if on its own. No choice. No other way.

Murky water.

Light above him.

Limp body in his arms.

_God, no, Kate, no, come on_. _You have to fight._

He crawls back onto the pier, uses everything he's got to pull her slack body into his arms. She's not moving. Her clothes are heavy, soaked through with river water, and her wet hair is plastered to her cold skin and _no, Kate, this isn't how it ends, come on, you're going to live, you have to_ –

He finally manages to get two fingers onto her throat, grits his teeth until he stops shaking long enough to hold them still. He can feel a pulse. It's faint but it's there. He holds a hand over her mouth.

Nothing.

His heart stutters in his ribcage. Her chest isn't rising. She's not breathing.

Kate's not breathing.

His hands are shaking again but he manages to tilt her head back, pinch her nose, lean in, and cover her mouth with his own and breathe into her lungs and _Kate this isn't how it's supposed to be you have to be awake I can't do this alone _and she's not moving so he pushes another breath into her and _come on Kate wake up_ and he gasps because she has all his air and he's trying to force life into her but she's still not moving and _why does it take guns and bullets and death for any of this to happen_ and _come on, Kate, you have to _live –

He breathes into her a third time and feels the sudden catch run through her upper body, sees her chest rise with the air. She's breathing. She's _breathing_.

She gasps, chokes, sputters. He rolls her over onto her side, turning her head so she can spit out water and breathe easier. Her body is wracked with coughs, but she manages to pull in a strangled breath. He rubs her back as she slowly gets air into her lungs.

And suddenly she's throwing herself against him and he's falling backwards and her arms are around his neck and her mouth is on his and it makes no _sense_ and he doesn't know what to do but it's wild and frantic and wrong and it's all hot, desperate mouths and wet lips and rough, aggressive tongues and shaking hands and _shit_ he just wants her so much and he's wanted her for so long and _oh God Kate I love you I love you we need to stop almost dying_ –

She gives this long shuddering sigh, her breath soft on his lips, and she huddles against him, her body limp and wet and chilly and she's just so _cold_ and _Kate, we have to stop doing this_, _I love you_ –

She presses her face into the crook of his neck. He can feel her breath, cool on his wet skin, her spine curved against him. She's exhausted. She's worn. She's not fighting. She's not fighting anymore.

"Castle?" Her voice is faint.

"Gotta stay awake, Kate." He runs his hand over her wet hair, traces the line of her jaw, lets his thumb graze her bottom lip. She doesn't pull away. She barely seems to register it at all. _Kate. You need to wake up._

"Cold."

"I know." He pulls her closer. She has to stay awake. He doesn't know what to do if he's alone.

"You're warm."

"Yeah. I hear that all the time." Castle swallows the irrational desire to let himself cry because this is a giant mess and he can't help but think it's all his_ fault_ and he is so sick of coming so damn close to dying so many times before he can just tell her and she _remembers_.

"Castle." Her eyes flutter shut, and her fingers curl weakly in the filthy wet fabric of his shirt. "Castle, I – I heard you – have to – "

"Shhhhh. Just rest." He rubs her shoulders, trying to keep her warm. "Someone'll find us. We're gonna be fine, okay?"

"But – Castle – have to tell you – "

"Kate. It's okay." His voice is cracking. He can't handle this. Where's the CIA? Where are the guys?

"_Kiss_." Her voice barely sounds, like she's so exhausted she can't finish the word, and his stomach drops like a stone and his arms tighten around her like he can protect her (but oh God he can't, he _can't_). "I – kissed you – but you have – to _know_ – "

"I don't have any answers, Kate."

She falls silent, still clutching his shirt like a lifeline, and he holds onto her. Clutches her against his chest as the wind chills his bones, as the black SUVs pull up like ghosts, as lights flood the dock. The CIA agents come pull her out of his arms in spite of his protests, assuring him that they're taking care of her, ignoring his pleading, and they just keep asking him _what happened, what happened_? – and Sophia watches him with questions in her eyes, and everyone wants him to tell them something.

He still has no answers.


	32. 4x05, Eye Of The Beholder

Dear Cartographical, as always, thank you for all your help. Even if you do yell at me in big capital letters and mock my dorkiness and occasionally threaten things like stabbing me in the eyeball. Which, I will point out, would not actually make me write any faster, so I don't know what you were hoping to accomplish there anyway.

Readers, I wish you could see Carto's editing suggestions. They are 4857468574 times better than anything I could ever write. Also, please go read all her stories and tell her how good they are. It makes her SO UNCOMFORTABLE and it's funny.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 32: 4x05, Eye Of The Beholder <strong>

_I don't steal things that belong to someone else._

Kate's holding her breath, preparing herself to watch Castle walk to the elevator with the cool, gorgeous, sexy blonde with no hang-ups and no emotional baggage and no bullet-sized scars hidden under her clothing.

But she walks back into the bullpen to find Castle. By her desk. Without Serena.

Wait.

"You guys didn't go out?"

"No."

"Why?" Not that – she's not – she just –

"Because I can't afford it." He's doing that big teddy bear-ish thing, his chest all puffed up in mock seriousness, and she has to shake off this irrational desire to hug him right now in front of everyone. "The museum just slapped me with a bill for that exhibit I broke…"

He holds out the paper and holy _shit_ that is a lot of digits.

"Whoa."

"I know! You'd think they'd cut me some slack, after the whole helping-to-solve-a-murder thing."

Kate takes the paper, runs her fingers over it as she screws up her nerve and hopes she sounds casual.

"I guess the least the NYPD could do is take you out for a hamburger."

She glances up, biting her lip, holding her breath. It's not much, but it's still dinner. She's still asking him out. She's been trying to do this for days, and she's finally gotten the words out. And if he says _yes_ –

"I accept."

Her heart flips in her chest and pounds in her ears and she has to look away from him. Because she did it. She asked him to dinner. He's beaming and she has to look away from him. He said _yes_ and even though they've done this, they've had dinner a thousand times, it's the first time she's admitted it to herself (it's a _date_) and there's such a tremendous, shivery sense of triumph thudding through her chest that she feels like right now she could do anything.

Maybe even tell the truth.

* * *

><p>It's a lovely night, so they walk. Castle's still musing aloud about putting Alexis through medical school, wondering if she might someday become the first doctor to successfully build a functioning human liver out of avocados. Or penguin feathers. Or moon rocks.<p>

"You laugh, Beckett, but you'll see. She has my looks _and_ my brains. She'll go far."

She shoots him a sideways glance, and the way he's watching her –

Her face gets warm. Castle's watching her with that sweet, shy, warm expression. It makes her think of youth, of sweaty palms and nervous dates and careful handholding and notes stuffed in lockers and it makes her feel lighter, like there's champagne bubbling through her veins, and maybe she shouldn't feel this way about him but she can't help it. He makes her want to smile.

Even when he's an idiot.

Especially then.

(_I love you, Kate_.)

She shakes her head, tries to get rid of the grin that keeps hovering over her lips. He thinks he's so smooth. But honestly. He couldn't hide it if he tried.

(_I love you_.)

And it used to hurt so badly, remembering those words. But now, when she thinks of them, she –

"You're smiling."

She bites her lips. "No, I'm not."

"You are. You're smiling."

She tries to glare at him. Tries very hard. Fails. "And so what if I am?"

"I thought we were going to be respectfully grave this evening to acknowledge the fact that I will have to sell my kidneys to put my daughter through school. Have a heart, Beckett."

"It's your own fault." She shrugs. "You could have just _said_ the fist was inside the television. But no. Richard Castle had to make a scene. Had to make a big production of it. Why exactly am I supposed to pity you?"

"First of all, Martha Rodgers' son does not _tell_ people things," he scoffs. "You clearly have no appreciation for drama. And second, I did not _realize_ they would make me pay for that big hunk of garbage. Honestly. Couldn't I just go to a garbage dump, grab a different television, and rebuild it? Would anyone be able to tell?"

"Absolutely." She nods gravely, but she can't stop smiling. "I found that piece inspiring. The – "

"Oh! Look out!"

His arms suddenly slip around her and tug her, and she stumbles, falling against him as a bike flies past on the sidewalk, missing her by inches.

"Sorry."

He doesn't really look sorry. He looks –

_Not going there, Kate._

Her hands are pressed against his chest, and she should really pull herself away but his body is just –

_Still not going there, Kate_.

She opts for sarcasm instead. "It worries me that your instinctive reaction to anything startling is just to grab the nearest woman."

"You didn't complain about it the first time."

She opens her mouth to argue (seriously, she reamed him a new one for it), but then a blush crosses her face. He's not talking about Serena. He's talking about –

- that thing they never talk about.

Ever.

She's suddenly terribly, terribly aware of his arms, still around her waist, and he's not letting go and he's so close and so perfect and –

She swallows, and oh no, she's looking at his mouth, and she should stop looking at his mouth but she can't stop looking at his mouth and she should but she doesn't want to and then suddenly he's kissing her and _oh_ –

Her whole body relaxes into him, and he's so strong and big and warm and his mouth is slow and cautious but she wants it, wants more, wants all of it, and she feels the heavy warmth of his tongue in her mouth and he's nibbling lightly on her lip and she lets this high-pitched sigh escape and his arms tighten around her. She slides her fingers through his hair, silky and thick and soft, and he lets out a low growl of pleasure that sends a hot wave through her body because _oh_ that's his tongue and she wants him so badly that frankly it's a little embarrassing.

They finally break apart for air and it's oddly difficult to breathe. Kate draws a long breath in through her nose. His hand is warm and gentle on her back, holding her close, and she can't help the smile that she's pretty sure might never go away.

"You should smile more."

She looks up and her heart skips a beat. He's watching her with a look she hasn't seen on his face in a long time. It's warm. Sweet. Genuine.

It's unashamedly loving.

Her heart swells up, warm and glowing and bright and too much and she can't stop herself from leaning in again, stealing one more kiss from his eager mouth. His hands come up to cradle her jaw, and someone nearby wolf-whistles at them but she doesn't care because he's a really, really good kisser.

When she opens her eyes, he's still watching her, his eyes bright. He's grinning and she knows she is too. Heat is shimmering through her veins and his hands are skimming over her arms and all she can think is _finally_.

He clears his throat. "So. Where are you taking me on this date we're on?"

"Date?"

He shoots her a sly look, twines his fingers through hers. "Don't be coy, Detective. I'm not really playing hard to get, here."

She rolls her eyes. "Hard-to-get's never really been your strong suit, Castle."

"For you? Nah." He bumps her arm. "So. Where are you taking me?"

"Like I said. Burger. Why, you watching your figure?"

Castle grins at her cheekily. "Onions. Gotta decide if I want to let you kiss me goodnight."

She bites her lip. Grins back.

"See, I was thinking about kissing you good morning, Castle."


	33. 3x06, 3XK

Cheers to Cartographical. *raises glass*

Set post-ep, after the long ordeal is over and Beckett finally takes Castle home.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 33: 3x6, 3XK<strong>

_I'm so glad that you're okay._

The drive back to his loft is silent.

She drives, occasionally sneaking a quiet glance at him, but doesn't push him. Castle doesn't know what he'd do without Beckett. She's a rock.

It takes him a few minutes to realize his leg is shaking. Dammit. He presses his palm to his thigh, tries to be subtle about stopping. Derrick Storm never freaked out over near-death experiences.

Derrick Storm was not a real person.

Castle feels unsettled, more than anything. Jittery. Restless. His heart rate is up, his blood racing, and he has energy but it's nervous energy. He's not focused. He's hollow inside. He doesn't know what to do.

She pulls up to his building, and to his surprise, stops the car. Gets out. Walks with him. She doesn't say anything, but a wave of warmth floods his chest.

They make their way to his door silently. He casts a sidelong glance at her. Her head is down, hands in her pockets, face grave and quiet. But the silence is good; it floats between them. It's soft, easy. They don't need to talk. He just wants to breathe. And feel safe. And get rid of the cold that's been seething through his skin since he told his mother _I love you_ and prepared himself to die.

_Stop. It's done. You're alive_.

He takes a long breath, digs into his pocket for his keys. Almost there. He needs to get inside, back into his home, where everything is safe and he's in control and he can get over this odd, hollow, jerky feeling in his chest.

"You okay?"

He nods, unlocking his door with oddly steady hands. "You, uh, want to come in?" He might offer her a drink. They've both earned it.

"No thanks. I'm just going to head home."

He nods. It's late. He didn't really expect her to stay. Besides, she might not be going home to an empty bed. That hurts.

"Night, Castle."

"See you tomorrow."

He takes one last look at her face before he makes himself go inside.

He finds a note by the door. _Richard – I'm going to bed, but wake me when you get in. Want to make sure you're really okay_._ Alexis only knows you're out working. Wanted to let you tell her what you think best._ – _Mother_

He can't help but smile, even if it's a little tight. Good. He doesn't want them to worry. They know he's safe and that's what matters. And when he tells them everything in the morning, he'll tone it down as much as possible. He doesn't want to do this now, in the darkness, while he's so close to it. He'll – he'll check on them now, let them sleep, and deal with it in the morning.

The hollow feeling in his chest is nothing. It's just the crash from the adrenaline. He ignores it.

He's reaching for the lightswitch when he hears a soft noise outside. It sounds – almost like –

His stomach drops.

He knows what it is.

His throat aches. He opens the door.

And she's there.

Kate is a few feet down the hallway, slumped against the wall. Her fist is pressed to her mouth. She's crying quietly, trying to muffle the raw sobs that shake her shoulders, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her whole body is crumpled in on itself. She looks like she's broken.

His heart clenches hard. "Kate – God, Kate – "

He can't even manage anything else. He sinks down onto his heels, pulls her into his arms. She's shuddering, trying to hold herself together but she's failing, her body crumpling against him like a broken doll, and he's terrified because she doesn't _do this_, she doesn't lose it, she doesn't _cry_, and this is because of _him_ and _God_ it was so _close_.

She lets out this choked noise, the raw, keening sound of a sob she's trying to choke back. His eyes sting and he presses his face to her hair, lets his body mold to hers, takes deep hitching breaths that slowly end up in time with hers. Her slim shoulders under his hands. The scent of her hair, the scent of _her_, the warmth of her body and the tang of her grief and terror. He needs her. He needs her closer.

He clutches at her blindly, desperate, his throat so tight he can't form words. Her hands are on his face, tracing the line of his jaw, like she's trying to convince herself that he's really here, that she didn't lose him. He swallows, his heart pounding hard in his chest as her thumb trails lightly over his bottom lip. It feels so much better than it should and he should stop this, stop her, but he can't, he just can't, not when the only human contact that's given him any warmth tonight has been _her_, her fingers twined in his outside the motel, her body shaking against his now, her hand tracing lines of shocking heat over his cheek.

He's trying to muster up the fortitude to pull away, to resist this unexpected moment, when suddenly he absolutely cannot breathe because her fingers on his lips have been replaced by _her_ lips and there's no way to stop now.

Her mouth is hot and wet and open under his and the kiss goes from tentative to frantic in seconds as his tongue traces her lips and her fingers curl around his neck and oh _Kate_ it's all too much and too fast and not enough and _fuck_ suddenly he's pressing her up against the wall and she's arching into him and whimpering into his mouth as he kisses her hard and deep and desperate and he wants her, wants all of her, wants to devour her mouth and take her body until she's _his_ and oh she's in his _lap_ and he's sucking on her lips and she's trembling against him and it feels so _right_ and Kate, _Kate_ –

The elevator chimes behind them.

She jerks away from his mouth like she was shoved, and for a long moment he can't open his eyes. Her breath is still hot on his face, her hands still on his shoulders. His face is still damp from her tears.

He licks his lips. Opens his eyes. She's scrambling off of him. He makes an unconscious move to follow her but she presses her hand to his chest. "Castle. We can't."

She's right.

He sits there dumbly as she gets to her feet, wipes her eyes, runs a hand through her hair, steps onto the elevator, and finally, finally, she gives him a last _I'll see you tomorrow_ before the elevator doors close, leaving him alone in his hallway.

He goes back into his apartment to check in his mother's and daughter's rooms before going to bed himself. Gina's away, meetings in Chicago, and has no idea any of this happened. She never asks about his work at the precinct anyway. He doesn't think he's going to mention tonight to her. Any of it.

He doesn't feel cold anymore.

He still feels hollow.

* * *

><p>The next morning he gets to the precinct a little later than usual. Gets clapped on the shoulder by several uniforms on his way up to homicide. It amazes him, the family here, and it's humbling to become a part of it. Even if they mostly do seem to regard him as the crazy uncle.<p>

He finally gets to the fourth floor and earns a friendly punch on the shoulder from Esposito. Ryan's out for the morning. Montgomery nods to him from inside his office.

Of course, there's only one person he really desperately needs to see.

He sets the coffee beside her computer and takes his seat before actually meeting her eyes. Normal is good. Normal he can handle. Normal means he doesn't have to go over and over the memory of that desperate moment, the exquisite heat of her mouth, the frantic clutch of her fingers, the unmistakable need surging through his veins that –

He clears his throat. "Hi."

"Hi."

Her voice is softer than usual, a shade gentler than the usual clipped tone she adopts at work. She's glancing up at him like she's shy. And all his good intentions about forgetting that last night ever happened are gone, over before he can start, and really, did he ever have a chance?

* * *

><p>Castle finds that he can tell himself to be reasonable as the day passes.<p>

When she turns to answer a question and her eyes linger on his lips far longer than they should, he tells himself she's not thinking about last night. Because it didn't happen.

When she shoots him a long, dark look after telling Esposito she's going to pull some things from the evidence room, he tells himself she isn't telling him to follow her.

When she kicks the door shut behind him and drags him back into a dark corner, he knows this can't be what it looks like.

But when she buries her hands in his hair, forces her tongue into his mouth and hooks her leg over his thigh, he gives up. Because it's wrong. But he can't stop.


	34. 3x02, He's Dead, She's Dead

Cartographical. I forgive you for not loving corgis as much as I do. And you get the credit for the plot of this one. Seeing as you basically thought up most of it, and if you'll recall the circumstances if its inspiration, you'll know why I find it so damn funny that you thought up _this_.

This picks up mid-episode, right after the scene in which Penny tells Beckett to keep her eyes peeled for someone named Alexander.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 34: 3x2, He's Dead, She's Dead<strong>

_If you don't believe in even the possibility of magic, you'll never, ever find it._

Castle's late to the precinct. He spent the morning comforting his mother over Chet's death. He knows Beckett will understand. She always does. It's one of those things about her that just makes him want to tell her –

Well.

He appreciates it.

The elevator doors open on the fourth floor, and Castle steps out. His eyes immediately find Beckett, who's back in the break room. She has an odd expression on her face. She's watching Penny Marchand, the victim's daughter, who's headed for the elevator, clearly on her way out.

Strange.

Penny sees him and smiles as she presses the elevator button. "Good morning, Mr. Castle."

"Morning, Miss Marchand. What brought you in so early?"

"Just had to deliver a message." The elevator doors open, and she steps inside. "I'm sorry to leave so quickly. Lots to do. But it's nice to see you, Mr. Castle." She steps onto the elevator, then pauses, turning back to him and holding the elevator door with one hand. "Wait. Mr. Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"When you give it, she'll give it back."

"What?"

Penny wrinkles her nose. "I'm not sure what it means."

"When I give what? To whom?"

"To her." Penny points back at the break room, where they can see Beckett stirring coffee. "I don't know what, though."

"Oh." Castle's not really sure what to think of it. Not like Penny could possibly know –

"I'm sorry I can't be clearer." She shakes her head. "It's a little jumbled. But there will be a gift. You'll give her something. Something important. It was a part of you once, and you've wanted to give it to her for a long time. At first you'll worry that she won't accept it."

"Uh. Okay?" Castle's not really sure what to make of that. He wasn't really planning on giving her a wisdom tooth.

"She'll accept it. She will." Penny furrows her brow. "Maybe not – at first. I think. But yes, I see a definite aura of acceptance. That I do know."

"Well – I'm glad to hear it – " He'll still make sure there's a gift receipt with her next birthday present, but that doesn't seem like something Penny needs to know, and he still doesn't understand how a gift can be both accepted and given back – "but I really don't know exactly what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry. It's like – there are more layers to this. There's a much bigger story ahead, but it's mostly in shadows. I can't see everything." The young woman smiles at him brightly. "But you have to solve. That's a connection. To the gift. Solve."

"Solve?" He'd ask _solve what?_ - but really, at this point he's not sure it would matter.

"Yes." She nods vehemently. "And timing. It'll never be right. You won't think it's a good idea. But don't wait."

"Solve – something – and bad timing?"

"Exactly."

"I don't understand."

Penny frowns in concentration, shuts her eyes for a second. "All I – wait." She brightens. "One last thing. I see – sky. No. Three skies. First night. Then – sun – oh, dear – " she swallows, her face darkening for a second – "but then rain. That's it. Night, sun, and rain."

He stares at her, trying to form another coherent question beyond _Are you seriously just making all of this up?_, but Penny beams at him. "Have a good day, Mr. Castle." And she leaves before he can ask her what any of it meant.

Castle shrugs. Shakes it off. Whatever her mother had, Penny is obviously trying very hard to channel.

(It's not like Penny actually _knows_ about – well. Anything.)

* * *

><p>"My given name is Richard Alexander Rodgers. What a coincidence, huh?"<p>

He takes one last look at Beckett (he is _not_ admiring the soft warm glow of sunlight on her hair) before he walks away, hands bunched in his pockets.

Strange day. Strange case.

It strikes him as odd that Beckett was so fixated on his middle name. His former middle name, anyway. It's been years since he's used the initials _RAR_. Although he's utterly delighted that she obviously visits his website.

(And now that he thinks about it, he still doesn't know _her_ middle name. How many uniforms will he have to bribe to get into her classified personnel file? Surely not too many. Oh, if it's _Nicole_ he is going to just lose it. And maybe throw a party to celebrate his genius.)

He takes the stairs, not seeing anyone he walks past as he concentrates on channeling enough psychic power to divine Beckett's middle name. Elizabeth. Rose. Sarah. Sophia. Genevieve. Lucy. Lucretia? Oooooh, Natalia? He kind of desperately hopes it's Lola or Margarita or, oh, maybe it's Jezebel.

Oh, no. He wants it to be something hotter. Something like Scarlet. Would she notice if he just started calling her that? Maybe he can warm her up to it.

It's not until he's outside the precinct that he remembers _solve_.

One solves for _x_ in math.

The gift was once a part of him.

His middle name used to be Alexander.

_Alexander_ has an _x_ in it.

He's gotten enough _xoxo_'s beneath phone numbers on cocktail napkins to know what _x_ can mean.

(_You've wanted to give it to her for a long time_.)

He almost trips on the sidewalk, stumbling like an idiot, but he ignores the curious looks he gets. He can't resist. He pulls out his phone. _It's bugging me. What did she tell you about Alexander?_

He hits _send_ and waves for a cab. As he slides into the backseat, his phone buzzes. _Nothing you need to know. Night, Castle._

Thanks, Beckett. He can't help but laugh, some of the tension lifting from his shoulders. So much for mystical equations that need solving. If he tried to explain any of this, she'd shoot him one of those looks that says _Castle, I so _completely_ do not have time to deal with you right now._ He loves those looks. He works hard to earn them.

* * *

><p>He walks into the loft to find Alexis doing homework. He flicks through the mail, presses a kiss to her hair. "How was school, Pumpkin?"<p>

"Good. I spent the entire day taking notes in haiku."

"Why?"

She shrugs. "To see if I could."

"And?"

"It actually worked most of the day."

"Glad to hear it. I expect villanelles tomorrow, Princess Castle."

She laughs. "What, no sonnets?"

"Well, go with whatever moves you." He looks down at her notebook. "What are you working on here?"

"Calc." She sighs. "It's fine. It's just a lot of problems."

"Well, I have no doubt you'll be error-free as usual." He scans the page and something catches his eye. It's been way too long since he studied math. "What does that mean? Why is _x_ pointing to infinity? Numbers can point now?"

Alexis laughs. "Dad. That's a limit. It's the limit of this function – " she points at a complicated-looking expression – "as _x_ approaches infinity."

Ooooh. Intriguing. He likes that turn of phrase. "Approaches? What's the mathematical take on approaching infinity?" Infinity, to him, has always been the vast endlessness of space, a cloud, something you sink into, something that wraps you and holds you close and unfurls the entire universe around you forever and ever and always. In his world, the world of words, infinity is everything and everywhere. He never thought someone might have found a footpath to it.

Alexis sets her pencil down and thinks for a second. "It means how the expression behaves as we go through different values for _x_." She points at a diagram in the textbook, a long graceful curve that sweeps over a tidy graph. "_X_ is a variable, so it can stand for anything. And _y_ changes, because its value depends on the value of _x_."

He thinks he understands. "So you can watch the result, as _x_ grows and develops? Even when _x_ starts small. It grows. It changes everything."

"Yeah."

"All the way to infinity." He pats her head absently, not really noticing. "_X_ can be everything. From one to the end."

"Dad." Alexis plucks his hand off her head and smoothes her hair. "Infinity has no end."

But it has a beginning.

He leaves her to her work and heads to his office, where he sits back in his chair, nursing a scotch and thinking. The beginning of _x_. If _x_ is going to reach infinity, it needs to start somewhere. It needs to be something.

(Something he's been wanting to give her for a long time.)

A possible value for _x_.

But just one of many.

* * *

><p>When he hands over her coffee the next morning, she accepts it with her usual smile and takes a long drink before she stops short. "Castle? What's this?" She looks up at him in confusion. "Is this some kind of code?"<p>

She holds up the cup, which he has completely covered, bottom to brim, with hundreds of _x_'s.

"Not a code." He smiles. "A solution."


	35. 4x20, The Limey

Don't get me wrong, Castle and Beckett were Meant 4 Each Othah. But…Colin was hot. And British.

Just saying.

Cartographical, you are ever my morning star. My pushy, foul-mouthed morning star. That is why I less than three you. *hugs*

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 35: 4x20, The Limey<strong>

_This guy is crazy about you_. _And despite your little act, you're crazy about  
>him. Oh what? Was that supposed to be some big secret?<em>

When Kate walks into the bullpen dressed for the benefit, she sees Castle's immediate reaction. He's spent so much time ignoring her recently, but now his eyes rake over her like fire, burning her skin. And in this dress she loves but never gets to wear, she suddenly feels naked, all bare shoulders and exposed skin under his eager gaze. And for just a second, it's like it used to be, the energy between them. She hadn't realized how fiercely she missed this.

She takes Colin's arm and tries to convince herself she's excited about dressing up with an attractive guy in a tux.

She tries not to think about the last time it happened.

* * *

><p>Well. That was…interesting.<p>

She hands the cigarette case over to evidence for fingerprinting and heads up to homicide. She left her regular clothes in her desk drawer. She usually enjoys the adrenaline rush of working undercover. She did some work in Vice, and she's had more than her fair share of time playing eye candy for the sleaze of New York. But tonight was flat. Stressful. It felt off. She didn't gel with Colin. This dress has been hanging in the back of her closet for a while now, and it's looser than it used to be. She hated every second that she had to endure Nigel Wyndham's slimy hands on her while she got close enough to pick his pocket.

She's just glad it's over.

She hears footsteps and looks up to find Castle walking toward her, hands in his pockets, eyes skimming over her body. But when he finally meets her gaze, there's no sparkle in his eyes. No jokes. No Castle.

"Castle. Thought you'd gone home." She tries to keep her voice flat. He's been going home early lately. He never used to do that.

He doesn't make a single crack about slinky dresses and late-night action. He just shrugs. "Heard your new partner got you thrown out of the party."

The words _new partner_ cut right through her chest. "Go easy on him, okay? We got what we needed." She _was_ a little irritated with Colin, but it all ended up fine.

"No, I get it. Pity he can't keep you _at_ the party once he gets you there, though."

"At least he's _here_," she hisses, her blood getting hot. She hates this. She hates the way they are now. She hates that she doesn't know why it's happening.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

She's angry and tired. She forgets about her filter, or civility, or anything other than how much she hates this whole situation. "It means he doesn't waltz in and out of the precinct whenever he _feels_ like it and drag any kind of trash to my crime scenes without regard for police procedure."

His face is dark, and the pain in her chest is getting worse, because this isn't Castle. This isn't her partner, this bitter, tight man who's angry with her but won't tell her _why_. Who openly stares at her body in a low-cut dress but then turns around and treats her like he doesn't want to see her.

"Well, if he's so _perfect_, I guess I'll just go," he snaps. "I would hate to tarnish your sterling police work with my personal brand of incompetence, _Detective_."

"Castle, stop it. Just stop – "

"Do not _patronize_ me!"

"Then don't throw a _tantrum_ for no _reason!"_

Castle grits his teeth, his fists clenched, and without another word, he turns. He walks away.

Kate watches, her body slumping as she sinks into her chair, and her hands are shaky and her heart is racing and he's walking away and it's all _wrong_.

"Castle, what's going _on?"_ she chokes out. Her voice catches. She doesn't care. "Why are we _fighting?_"

She wants to take the words back the moment they're out, but it's too late. Castle stops. He turns back to her. His face is suddenly – it's different. Not angry. He looks _weary_. He looks tired.

There's a lump in her throat, but she makes herself swallow it. She's exhausted. She's sick of fighting. She hates this razor's edge they're walking on now because he won't talk to her and she doesn't know how to fix it.

"Castle, why are we like this now?"

Any other time she'd hate herself for openly pleading with him, but she's done tiptoeing. And he's _listening_. His eyes are still guarded, cautious. But he's looking at her, not through her.

"Don't toy with me, Beckett." The anger is drained out of his voice, leaving it rough and gravelly and _hurt,_ and she has to swallow hard not to react. "Just don't."

"What are you talking about?" The pain in her chest is getting tight, a pointed, hot ache that squeezes her lungs and strangles her breath. She doesn't know what's going on, but she knows it's bad. Her fingers tighten on the arms of her chair. He's staring at her. She feels trapped.

He opens his mouth, but just as he's about to speak, a cluster of uniforms walks past, chattering noisily. Her nerves are already fraying, so she pushes herself out of her chair. This is better done in private. "Come on."

He follows her into the empty conference room, hands in his pockets. She shuts the door, leans back against it for a moment, steeling herself. She remembers Royce saying _a perp is most dangerous when you corner him, kid_. _Gotta be careful what corners you back people into._

Castle's standing in front of the window across the room, his eyes fixed outside. She's got him cornered. Didn't even mean to.

"Castle. Please. Just tell me." Whatever it is, it can't be worse than this constant sniping, laced through with passive-aggressive jabs she can't translate beyond a desire to hurt her.

He doesn't turn around, just stares stubbornly out the window. She waits. Finally, his shoulders slump.

"You remember. The day you got shot. You remember everything."

It takes her a second to put it together.

The day she got –

Oh.

That was the day he said –

And she told him she didn't remember.

He knows she heard him say –

_Oh._

"Castle – " Her heart is pounding in her chest. Her hands are shaking. "How did you – " But her voice trails off because there is no good way to ask _How did you find out I've been lying to you for months now?_

"The bombing case." His voice is flat. Cold. Not him. "You said it in interrogation. I was behind the window."

The memory floods her mind. Vivid. Angry. The frustration. The panic. Her hesitant suspect. And then finally blurting out _I remember every second_. She thought no one was listening.

"You – you heard me tell him." She takes a deep breath.

He finally turns around. His face is tense with anger. She can't say it's not justified. "You should have just told me to go."

To go? What? No, no, he can't mean – "What are you talking about?"

"You lied. You lied to my face." His eyes are dark, blazing with more than anger. It's pain. He's still hurting. "And then you ran away and ignored me for three _months_. I can take a hint, Beckett."

"A – hint?"

His jaw twitches, and he lets out a frustrated breath. "Look. I can work with someone who doesn't feel – the same way. But I _can't_ work with someone who lies to me about it. I can't do it."

He's walking towards her, but she knows it's not to be close to her. It's because she's still in front of the door. He wants to leave. He's going to walk out and not come back.

She can't let him.

She tries to figure out what to say, her mind rapidly searching for words that will stop him, soften him, at least persuade him not to walk out of her life. Her chest is burning, the phantom ache so pointed and visceral she can't –

That's it.

The other thing she's hiding. The one thing he still needs to understand. Words aren't working for her. She needs to show him.

She presses her fingers into her skin, rubbing away the makeup on her chest. It wasn't easy to cover. She almost gave up and wore a different dress before she finally got her skin to look undamaged. The caked foundation comes off now, gritty, staining her fingertips. The scar tissue is tougher under her fingers, a dull lump inside her skin. At least she's used to it. Once the bandages came off, it took nearly a week before she could touch it without shuddering.

Castle's eyes are wide. "Kate – what – "

"It's okay." She tugs the neckline of the dress down an inch, making sure the scar is visible. "You can look."

Castle stops, his face frozen, as he sees her scar for the first time. It's not the only scar. There are surgical scars on her side. But this is the one he needs to see. This is the one that ripped them apart.

"Kate – " It comes out as little more than a whisper. He draws in a long, shuddering breath, unconsciously stepping closer, his eyes locked on the little pink blotch between her breasts. His eyes are wide, a mix of awe and terror and grief mingled in his expression. It's odd, she thinks. He's known this scar existed, but from the look in his eyes, he must never have realized it was real, visible. Tangible. Lasting.

(It's still so vivid in her mind. She remembers the expression on his face. Remembers it above her, against the stark blue sky – _I love you, Kate_ – as her body burned and screamed with agony and betrayed her and everything finally went black.)

"Are you – are you okay?" He's looking at her like she's fragile, like he's suddenly afraid she might break because of this little puckered blotch, and she can't bear the guilt in his eyes because this is _her_ fault.

"Castle, it's okay. It doesn't hurt anymore." It's mostly true. It still gets sore sometimes. But it doesn't hurt to breathe anymore. It doesn't hurt to think.

"Oh, Kate." He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face. "I'm sorry."

"No, Castle. _I'm_ sorry." Her back is against the wall, her fingers curling nervously. She's cornered herself. "I – you have to know. Yes. I remembered. And I pretended I didn't. But it wasn't – that I didn't want to hear it. Or that – that I didn't feel that way about you." She shuts her eyes because it's too much to look at him right now. "But it was all too much. I couldn't trust anything. I couldn't even trust my own body. Everything hurt, all the time, and every time it was quiet I just kept hearing the shot, reliving it. I had so many panic attacks. That's why I didn't talk to anyone over the summer. I couldn't let anyone see me like that."

"Kate – "

"I'm not saying I was right, Castle. I wasn't." She draws in a long breath. "But I was a mess. I was falling apart. I was so terrified I would drag you down with me."

"Kate – I didn't – I'm not trying to push you – "

"It's not – not that, Castle." She has to tell him the truth. "I'm seeing a therapist. But it's helping. It really is."

He nods. "That sniper case – the loud bang, when you dove for cover – "

"It was bad." She swallows. "It was – it was bad."

"I was so worried about you," he chokes out. "I wanted to help you. I just – all those months of silence. I thought you were embarrassed because you didn't want to hear it."

Kate flicks a glance up at him. "It wasn't _that_. But – Castle, it – " she runs her fingers over her scar almost without thinking – "there was a bullet in my chest. It was all too much. And I wanted to tell you the truth. But I was never strong enough. I was dealing with PTSD. I shouldn't have lied to you. But I didn't know how to stop." She grits her teeth. "And you shut me out."

He looks down. "I know."

"I wanted to tell you. Every day." She blinks away the sudden sting in her eyes. "Every morning you handed me coffee. And I wanted to just say it."

"Kate – "

"I didn't think I was good enough for you."

"Kate – no, _Kate_ – "

She presses her fingers to his lips to stop him, watching his eyes widen at the sudden contact. "No, Castle. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you the way I did. I'm so sorry."

He's silent, his blue eyes full of hope. Castle's always been the one chasing her. Four years he's been her faithful partner, spending his days doing everything he can to stay beside her. But she's spent the past year holding him carefully at arm's length. She's the one who has to break the stalemate. Because she started it.

Her pulse hammering in her chest, she reaches out, touches his cheek gently. His eyes flutter shut. She can feel the shaky breath he draws in, the warmth as he turns into her touch. It's the affirmation she needs to slowly lean in and press her lips to his.

The kiss is brief, shy, just a breath. But she feels the tremor that runs through his body, and when she pulls back, he's watching her with a gaze so heated she can't resist the temptation to tug him closer and kiss him again.

She's confident now, running her hands through his hair, molding her body into his larger frame. He traces his tongue over the line of her mouth and she opens to him, hot and wet and willing as he swallows the soft moan that escapes her. His arm curls possessively around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and he kisses the corner of her mouth, lips lingering on her skin. "I was willing to wait for you. I can be patient."

"You, patient?" she scoffs. His face breaks into a smile, his eyes crinkling with mischief. _That's _Castle.

"When I'm waiting for something I care about this much? Yeah. I'm patient."

He's smiling, but the seriousness laced in his words, in his touch, makes her shiver. He thinks she's precious. He's not hiding it right now. He makes her feel so utterly loved that she can hardly bear it.

"Castle, I'm still broken," she whispers, relishing the warmth of his arms, the solid, broad press of his chest.

"You're beautiful, Kate."

She opens her mouth, but before she can speak, the door suddenly opens beside them. Esposito leans in.

She flushes hotly, hastily pulls away from Castle's embrace, but Esposito just reaches in and tugs the shades closed, leaving the room completely private, blocked off from the bullpen. He gives them a crooked grin. "As you were." Behind him, Ryan is peering in, giving them an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

The door shuts again, and she lets out an embarrassed laugh. "Oh." The windows. She should have thought of that. Of course, she didn't drag him in here thinking she was going to kiss him.

Castle grins. "Safe to say the boys are okay with it."

"Yeah." She laces her fingers through his. "They don't like it when Mom and Dad fight."

That makes him laugh, warm and full and easy. "I don't like it when we fight either."

She bites her lip, presses one last soft kiss to his warm mouth, and opens the door, tugging his arm. "Come on. We have to get back to the case."

He stays, holds her back for a second. "Kate. We're okay, right?"

"Yeah." She runs her thumb over his knuckles. "I want my real partner back."


	36. 4x07, Cops And Robbers

**Chapter 36: 4x07, Cops And Robbers**

_Tell me you need me._

The explosion rips through the building and Kate can't breathe. Her chest is burning. Her lungs are torn apart. Oh God Castle oh God oh God Castle _no_ –

* * *

><p>When she sees Alexis safely wrapped in her father's arms, <em>finally<em>, Kate feels something horrible and ugly and knotted in her chest dissolve. And then suddenly everything gets blurry and her throat closes up and _oh God I thought he was dead_ –

Kate ducks between a police van and a surveillance truck, presses her hands against the cool metal, and finally shuts her eyes. She lets out a long shuddering breath and bites her lip to keep herself silent, because everything's rushing in her ears so fast and oh God she thought he _died_ and she has to cover her mouth but she can still hear herself whimpering and she just needs a few minutes to get over this –

She hears footsteps pause by the side of the truck and looks up to find Castle leaning between the vehicles. His eyes are alert, fixed on her; he's obviously been looking for her.

She hastily wipes her eyes. "Castle – what – "

He doesn't pause, doesn't waver. Walks right up to her. Puts his hands on her face, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw gently. Kisses her.

For a second she's frozen – what is he _doing_ – but then her back hits the side of the van and oh fuck _all_ she thought he was _dead_ and she lets out a shuddering sigh and winds her arms around his neck and just goes for it.

It's too messy and too frantic and too fast but it feels so _good_ and then he's pulling her hips into his and she threads her hands through his hair and swallows the deep, dark noise that escapes him and sends a shudder through her body and –

"Hey, get a room, guys." The hostage negotiator walks off chuckling, obviously not bothered, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _lady cop with a bedroom voice, alright.._.

Kate gasps. Oh, no. _Seriously_.

She drops her head on Castle's shoulder and breathes him in, his scent a mixture of sweat and dust and warmth and masculinity and fabric softener and _him_. It's exactly what she needs right now.

She takes a deep breath and straightens up. "Castle – what – "

"There is a finite number of times I'm willing to almost die before I just say 'screw it.'" He watches her, his blue eyes so wide and serious that she has to catch her breath. "I can take a hint from the universe. After it's repeated this many times."

"Castle?" Does he really mean –

"Kate." He traces the line of her cheek. She can feel his hand trembling. "Can we stop dancing around this? Before we get blown up. Or frozen. Or blown up again. Will you at least come over for dinner before the next explosion?"

She's still a mess. Has been for way too long. But when he looks at her like this, his whole face beaming with undisguised adoration, and when he touches her face like she's a precious thing and when he almost just got _blown up_ (she keeps remembering it and it makes her stomach lurch), oh God, it's not like she can ever really say _no_ to him but now she can't even pretend.

And besides. It's dinner. Dinner she can do. Dinner is not forever.

…dinner might lead to forever.

But it's just the first step.

She swallows. "Okay."

Castle gapes at her like he's not sure he heard her correctly. "Really?"

"Yeah."

He grins, his whole face lighting up, and he leans in to steal one last kiss before letting her go. "Well, come on, Beckett. Let's go."

"Go?"

He tugs her arm. "Dinner. Quickly. With my luck today, we have half an hour before the aliens land."


	37. 3x10, Last Call

Thanks to the lovely Sandiane Carter for editing this one!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 37: 3x10, Last Call<strong>

_You were so cute back then._

It's bad enough when she puts on lip gloss. Yeah. He likes that. He wonders if it's flavored.

And then she shakes out her hair.

Oh.

Shit.

It tumbles over her shoulders, thick and wavy and glossy, and he has to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching for it, running his hands through its soft waves, tugging her closer, pressing his mouth to hers as they slide into the backseat of her car and -

_Stop, Rick_.

He pulls himself together. Too much. "Undercover. I like it." And he can't resist. "Might want to pop one more button, just in case." It's such a wonderful fantasy, and he can't help but -

She _does_.

And everything he's ever liked about naughty librarians and naughty schoolteachers pales beside this sexy, sexy detective eyeing him with this smoldering look, something between amusement and defiance and maybe even _I dare you_, and just. Wow. Black lace. She's wearing _black lace_ and he can _see it_.

She stalks down the stairs with her hair and her lips and her lacy underwear, a perfect storm of smirking, disdainful sex appeal, leaving him to blink and suck in oxygen and hurry after her_._

* * *

><p>Beckett points out the urn, in its little niche, and yeah, yeah, the case, blah blah. He's still trying to surreptitiously sneak glances down the front of her shirt.<p>

His eyes stray to...

...lime wedges.

Oh.

Yeah.

Beckett doesn't get it, doesn't understand what's caught his attention. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

It's the safest answer, because the true one leads him straight back to Nikki Heat, the sexy cop who _is_ sleeping with her partner. Limes have taken on a whole new meaning for him since page 105, and he doesn't feel comfortable confessing aloud the things he did the night he wrote that tequila scene. Not at all. That night - he - well. He had trouble meeting her eyes the next morning.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to the Old Haunt, folks."<p>

Castle absolutely does not like the bartender. Stupid Brian. No guy has the right to be this young and fresh-faced and fit and look at Beckett like that, especially not when she's leaning forward and playing with her hair and that cannot _possibly _be accidental. It's not _okay_ and why is she _flirting_ -

Beckett introduces herself all girlish and giggly and _hot_ and then grudgingly adds _this is Rick_, like she doesn't want him here, and he is so deeply not okay with any of this. He takes the opportunity to shake Brian's hand a little too firmly and then shift closer to her, his chest coming up against her back as his hands settle on her hips and _oh_ this is so good. He feels her start slightly at the contact, her breath catching oh-so-quickly, but she doesn't pull away so he gets bolder, letting his fingers slip just under the hem of her shirt and trace light circles in the skin above her hip. Her skin is so smooth, so silky and warm under his hands, and he has to tell himself not to press against her more fully because it's definitely not allowed but he really almost doesn't care because she feels so _good_ against him.

But her charms are all directed Brian. "- you don't by any chance carry a liqueur - " she pulls a cherry out of the fruit tray and Castle actually catches his breath - "it's - _really_ delicious and it comes in this red bottle..."

Her tongue swirls over the cherry and his blood pools way too quickly and _shit_ Beckett, no, you can't do that in _public_ -

Brian gets this grin on his face as her teeth tug the fruit off its stem in a move that is indecently sexual, and no, no no _no _that's not okay. Castle clears his throat. "Oh, yeah, that, uh - that bottle we shared at that little cantina down in Tierra del Fuego. That time you couldn't keep your dress on."

Brian lets out a little choking laugh that says _I'd like to see that_, but Castle's already lost in the flash of overly-vivid images (the cabana on a deserted beach, flickering candles, the slinky black dress crumpled on the floor, the red bottle knocked carelessly to the floor as they stumble into bed) and _wow_ that got way too real, way too fast.

She turns her head, probably to glare at him, but he can't stop his hand from sliding over her hip, drawing a silent gasp from her lips. Her eyes flick up at him, dark, heavy, teasing, and that's it. He can't stop himself. He doesn't think. He leans in and captures her mouth.

She arches into him immediately, the tentative kiss deepening so fast his head spins. Her mouth opens under his and he slips his tongue over her lips, teasing, light. And his good intentions are gone in a moment because he can taste the cherry, sweet and sharp, and the richness of coffee and it's all _her_. She kisses him back, hot, eager, her tongue tangling with his, wet and challenging and feral and she makes this sexy little noise in the back of her throat and oh shit _Kate_ -

An awkward cough interrupts them, and Castle looks up to find Brian blushing furiously, rubbing his neck. "Uh. I, uh. Didn't find a red bottle."

Castle's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he just _kissed her_ and she _let him_ and from the lip gloss to the unbuttoning to her _tongue_ he's thoroughly convinced that these past five minutes have been nothing but a feverish Nikki Heat-style hallucination.

Except -

He can still taste her.

The sweet tang of Beckett is overwhelming his senses and he doesn't know how he's ever going to taste cherries again without having to excuse himself.

Brian's asking about vodka but Beckett's dropping the act. She holds up her badge and Castle should really do something, he should, but honestly he's lost. Because he can still taste her mouth, still feel her skin under his hands, and somehow the way she holds up her shield makes her even hotter, which shouldn't be possible, given when her tongue just did to that cherry.

* * *

><p>After a quick interview with Brian, who's finally figured out that Beckett is absolutely not going to put her tongue on anything other than that cherry (and Castle), a quick trip into the <em>coolest<em> basement office ever, and a brief talk with a waitress, they leave the Old Haunt. Beckett whips out her phone as she walks briskly to the car, telling Ryan and Esposito to pick up a suspect. Her voice is clipped, that quick, strong tone she uses when she's working. Not the voice she used at the bar. That was her bedroom voice. At least, Castle thinks that's probably her bedroom voice, all soft and musical and a little breathless, like she's half a second away from a breathy giggle. It's the kind of voice that belongs with candlelight, with a hot bath and scented oils and her hands flexing weakly on the rim of the tub as he traces his tongue -

"Castle!"

"What? What?" He blinks and looks up to find her glaring at him. Oh. He was staring, wasn't he?

"Get in the car." She glares at him and he fumbles for the car door, sliding into his seat, pulling on his seatbelt and taking a deep breath because he can still taste her mouth and he doesn't think he's ever going to brush his teeth again if it means he can keep her flavor on his tongue.

But they can't talk about it. Not really. Because they both have reasons this shouldn't have happened, big, messy, personal reasons that are human and breathing and all too real.

"Castle." She grits her teeth. Does not make eye contact. "Wipe your mouth."

He rubs his fingers over his lips. Oh. That's where her lip gloss went.

Castle wipes his mouth, stares at the soft shine on his fingers.

He's going to write tonight.

He's going to write a sex scene tonight.


	38. 4x14, The Blue Butterfly

All my love to Cartographicals, Sandiane Carte, SparkleMouse, chezchuckles and shimmeryshine for looking over this one. I just. I loved this episode. Kevin Ryan saying "boyo"might be the greatest moment in human history.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 38:<strong>4x14, The Blue Butterfly<strong>**

_That's the stuff dreams are made of_.

They leave Vera and Joe and go back to the precinct.

Kate actually gives Castle free reign over the radio, biting back her smile when he finds a station playing "The Humpty Dance" and crows in delight. Her mind is going. It's whirling and turning and somersaulting so quickly she almost feels dizzy. Joe and Vera got to her. She'd never admit it to Castle, but...they did. They'd narrowly escaped death, left behind troubled pasts, dove in and built a life together. They'd moved on. They'd chosen each other.

They just looked so _happy_.

* * *

><p>Back at the precinct, she settles at her desk as Castle ducks into the breakroom to get her coffee. She's clearing out her email inbox when he reappears and hands her a cup. She reaches for it but pauses, wrinkling her nose skeptically. "This is your cup."<p>

"Your cup was dirty." He grins. "Besides. I don't have cooties. I swear."

She rolls her eyes but accepts the coffee, takes a long sip. _Mmmm_. That's the stuff.

His eyes get linger on her, and for a second she doesn't understand. Castle looks away, his face a curious mix of - of something, something she doesn't -

Oh. His cup. She's drinking from his cup.

It shouldn't mean anything.

But it's so strangely intimate, this innocent press of her lips where his have been, and her cheeks get warm as she remembers this is actually the _second_ closest their mouths have ever been.

Castle, studiously avoiding her eyes like he's afraid she'll catch him staring, is flicking through his phone, eyebrows drawing together, until it buzzes violently in his hand with an incoming message. His eyes light up. He catches himself, though, schooling his face into a careful expression as he looks up at her. "I, uh. I'm gonna go."

"Really?" It's early. He's - why is he - she sternly tells herself to stop feeling disappointed. "Um. Okay."

"See you later, Beckett."

Castle all but bounds away, hands in his pockets, leaving Kate to stare at her desk. This is different. This isn't like him. He doesn't get mysterious messages and hide them from her and then leave her without explanation.

Her hands curl instinctively around the cup, which is still warm. Comforting. Soothing. She bites her lip, running her thumb idly over the smooth, curved porcelain handle. It's not - she's -

It's just a cup.

(_His_ cup.)

She'll give it back later. She's just going to...borrow it for now. Just borrowing. That's all.

* * *

><p>There's a knock at her door that night, and as she sets down her wineglass and tucks a bookmark into the novel she's reading, she knows exactly who she's going to find.<p>

Sure enough, it's Castle. His face lights up when she opens the door, his eyes sparkling. "Hi."

"Hi, Castle." She opens the door. "Come on in." She likes this, the way he feels comfortable coming to her. Even if it's something small. If he feels able to approach her, then that means she's doing something right, that he understands -

She shuts the door, telling herself _slow down, Kate. You don't even know why he's here._

When she turns back to face him, she finds him staring at her with a look that's really almost shy, like he's not sure about something.

"What's up?"

"I, uh. I got you something."

He what? He - "Castle - "

"Beckett. Please." He fixes her with his most boyish, adorable look. "Humor me? I think you'll like it. At least, I hope you will."

Kate eyes him semi-suspiciously, but the energy he's giving off isn't guilty. In fact, if anything, he seems - nervous? "Castle, this is sweet, but you can't just show up here at any hour with random - "

"Kate. Please."

Oh, that's - that's different. That's not like him. Whatever this is, it means something to him.

"All right." She shrugs. "I trust you." Three words she _can_ say.

He pulls a narrow silver box out of his jacket and presses it into her hands. It looks - she doesn't -

"What - "

"Open it."

She has to look back down at it because his eyes are too much, the look on his face openly saying _I love you I love you I love you_. So she's reduced to staring at what she's almost certain is a jewelry box, and this is too much, it's too much because all she can hear is _I love you_ and - and -

His fingers cover hers briefly. "Just open it. Please."

He's too earnest, too gentle, and she's worried but she just can't _not_. Kate takes a deep breath. Swallows. Slowly opens the box.

Her heart stumbles in her chest.

It's -

"Castle - " Her throat closes up. Her eyes are stinging. "Castle - this is - how did you - "

"I, uh. I know a guy. He looked at some photos of the original, and he designed this."

She knows, she knows perfectly well that he threw a small fortune at someone to create this for her, and she thinks she can't possibly accept it but her throat is so tight she can't get the words out. Because this delicate little butterfly necklace nestled inside the box she's holding is the most exquisite thing she's ever seen. "_Castle_. It's - it - Castle, I can't - "

"Here. Let me."

Before she can collect herself enough to tell him _no_, he takes the necklace, stepping behind her. She holds her breath as he gathers her hair, tucks it carefully over her shoulder, his touch so gentle, so reverent. Her eyes flicker shut. She can feel his warmth, his presence just there behind her. He's - he's -

His fingers brush over her throat and she catches her breath, sparks dancing through her skin at the careful, knowing intimacy of his touch. Maybe it's just her imagination, but it feels like he lingers there, hovers, like he's hesitant to let go. He clasps the chain, and she bites her lip as his hand ghosts over her shoulder before he turns her gently, until she's facing him again.

Kate chances a look up at him, and oh God, the way he's looking at her, she just can't handle it, that look in his eyes, it's all she can do to keep herself from just leaning in and kiss -

"It, uh. Looks good on you," he says softly.

"Castle, it's - it's so - " There's a catch in her voice; she has to take in a breath. Her heart is pounding in her chest. But she doesn't know what else to say. "Thank you."

His eyes beam, his whole face lit up in a smile. "You're welcome."

He looks so happy, so utterly delighted, and for a second she doesn't understand. All she did was -

She accepted something. He gave her something, something precious, and she accepted it. Oh, Castle -

Her heart swelling, she bites her lip, stands on her toes, and stretches up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, her lips just barely catching the corner of his mouth, the crease where his face always turns into a smile. She whispers in his ear. "It's beautiful, Rick."

When she stands back, he's watching her, his face cautious. "You really like it?"

She smiles at him. "I do."

There's no scale, no discernable path set up for her to achieve her ultimate goal. There is no set of twelve steps to prepare herself for life with Richard Castle. It's frustrating. She's – she trying to get there. Sometimes she feels like she's drowning, like there's a crushing weight on her chest and she's struggling to get out but she doesn't know how, she doesn't know where to go, how to move forward.

But the look in his eyes, the warmth unfurling in her chest, the smile that won't be stopped, the lightness that fills her body -

- maybe this is how it ends.

Not with a bang.

With a whisper.

* * *

><p>After he leaves, Kate doesn't take the necklace off. It's silly; she knows that. But she finds her fingers creeping up to trace the smooth, curling edges of the butterfly's wings. She can still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers at the nape of her neck, the warmth of his breath at her ear.<p>

When she was a little girl, Kate spent a year poring over books of Greek mythology. She loved the stories, the gods and goddesses so human, so petty and jealous and always squabbling. It's been years. She's forgotten a lot. But she remembers Psyche, the human princess who unknowingly married the god of love. Psyche didn't trust him. She burned him one night, a drop of hot oil that hit him accidentally. Psyche lost him. She lost everything. She wandered over the world in lonely misery; she ended up a slave before she was finally reunited with her love, and the two of them spent eternity together.

_Psyche_ means _soul_. Her symbol is the butterfly.

* * *

><p>Kate pulls on pajamas before finally reaching behind her neck to undo the delicate clasp. She takes off the necklace, holds it in the light for a second. The butterfly is tiny and delicate, gleaming gently under the rich lamplight. Elegant whorls of silver, rich blue enamel, the same fanciful swirling shape of the original piece, but in miniature. Oh, he's smart. No diamonds, no jewels, nothing that could convince her to give it back. It's gorgeous, like the original blue butterfly, but this one isn't extravagant. It's careful. It's deliberate.<p>

She sets it in her jewelry box, beside her mother's necklace, and even as she shuts the lid, there's a smile tugging at her mouth. She can feel it. She doesn't even try to hide it.

* * *

><p>Kate wakes with a gasp. Her heart is pounding, her face hot, her fingers clenched in the pillow so tightly they're almost sore.<p>

She's still half-caught in the dream, the hazy play of light and shadows, the crumbling, ivy-covered walls, the high arched windows. Silence. Soft, echoing silence.  
>And Castle. He was there. His eyes - so blue, so deep, so warm and gentle and so loving it still makes her heart flutter. Because no one has <em>ever<em> made her feel so unbearably precious with just a single look.

It was all very misty, very blurry. So quiet. But she can still feel the warmth from his hands on hers. And when he slipped her mother's ring onto her right hand, she knew, she knew he was telling her, _This is old, Kate. Someday, when you're ready, I'm going to give you a new one._

Everything was glowing, rich light warming her skin, and it was all safe and perfect and _him_ and she didn't question, wasn't afraid, because it was finally _right_.

She runs a hand through her hair, presses her fingers to her lips. He kissed her. She dreamed that he kissed her, his fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth warm and gentle on hers. It was dangerous. It made her want. It made her want everything, want it _now_, and the words he whispered into her mouth made it even harder.

_Kate. I've been waiting so long._

Oh, Castle.

* * *

><p>She dresses as quickly as possible, slips her mother's ring over her head, buckles her father's watch on her wrist. She stares at the butterfly necklace for a long moment before shutting her jewelry box – it's beautiful, but it's too precious for work. She wants to keep it safe. She'll save it.<p>

Pulling a jacket out of her closet, Kate throws it on quickly, grabs her keys and phone and leaves. She has to hurry if she's going to get to the coffee shop in time to meet him there.

* * *

><p><em>Something old and something new<br>something borrowed  
>something blue<em>


	39. 3x21, Dead Pool

Many thanks to chezchuckles for editing this one.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 39: 3x21, The Dead Pool<strong>

_I'm a one-writer girl._

Kate doesn't know what to do.

It's been almost a week, and she still hasn't told anyone about Josh.

Lanie - oh, Lanie's going to have a field day with this. First it'll be _You broke up with Josh? When? How? Why?_ and then of course it'll follow up with _And when the hell were you going to tell _me_ about it?_ and then, the one question she really, really doesn't want to answer: _What are you going to do about Castle?_

What _is_ she going to do about Castle?

She can't deal with what she knows is coming. The looks. The whispers. The murmurs of _Knew it would happen eventually_. People betting on how long she's going to hold out, how long she can resist before she finally succumbs to Castle's charms. How does Castle live like this? Having his private life dissected whenever people get bored, photos splashed over the paper. Living in an fishbowl. She can barely handle divulging her personal life at the precinct. Castle ends up in the newspaper.

There's one night she has one too many glasses of wine, and her fingers hover over her phone for a long time before she pushes it away. No. She's not going to call him.

* * *

><p>She's glad to have a case to occupy her mind. She needs the focus. She needs to remove herself from Josh, from his words. He wasn't kind. When he realized she was saying it was over, he got cruel. And it stung.<p>

Castle, oblivious to any of it, is just Castle. He brings her coffee and she says Thank you.

And Alex Conrad, it turns out, is a pleasant guy.

To be honest, she's flattered when he shows interest. He's cute, after all. And even though she's not really interested in him, not romantically, it's amusing to see Castle's eyes dart jealously after Alex whenever the younger man talks to her.

But it's refreshing to spend time with someone who doesn't know everything. Who hasn't been watching her for three years. Who isn't trying to detect clues about her relationship with Castle. He's just a nice guy. She doesn't want to date him. She just wants to forget about Josh's icy _Get out of my apartment_ and get back to herself.

The giant basket of muffins makes her desk the most popular spot in Homicide for most of the morning. Esposito steals about a dozen. She likes muffins, and it's a sweet gesture, so she appreciates the gift basket. And sternly shuts down the voice in the back of her mind whispering _But you like bear claws more_, _don't you?_

* * *

><p>Alex leaves the bullpen with Ryan and Esposito, looking delighted - it's nice that at least someone's thrilled at the name <em>Attica<em> - and Beckett turns back to her partner. Castle still wants to talk about the case. She's got something else on her mind. She wants to see if she can call him out on it.

"You know, speaking of mentors...I heard you guys were pretty hard on Conrad last night."

"Hard on him?" Castle scoffs. "No! It was just a little - friendly hazing."

"To hear him describe it, it sounds like someone was trying to teach him a lesson."

"What? Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you didn't want him to spend time with me."

Castle splutters a little. "That - is completely - "

"- _true_," she cuts in defiantly. He looks like he's about to protest, but she raises her eyebrows. He can't talk his way out of this one. She's caught him. Alex is okay with it, managed to laugh it off pretty well, but she knows Castle and this isn't his usual sort of prank. This doesn't feel much like a prank at all.

For a second she thinks he's going to back off, but then he lifts his chin. "Yes. Fine. It's true. I'm jealous. There, I said it. I want you - all to myself. And to have you spending time with another writer? That upsets me! And if that makes me petty, so be it. Guilty as charged."

Oh.

He's - never come outright and said it before.

"Actually, I kind of think it's sweet." It's adorable. He's adorable. For the first time in a week - maybe longer, if she's being honest - Kate finds herself happy. Because Castle cares. He cares enough to get jealous. "I do. And that's why you don't have to worry about me hanging out with Conrad anymore. From now on, I am a one-writer girl."

He actually smiles. Castle beams at her, and it's just so much more than it should be, how his eyes light up just because she's agreed not to let some other writer interview her. It's nothing, it was never a thing, and didn't Castle know that? Did he really think she was serious about Alex?

Out of nowhere, it hits her, like a blow to the stomach - if it bothered him this much to see her with Alex, how much does it bother him to think she's with Josh?

Castle's never been this open about it before, but now that she thinks about it - when Demming was around - oh, Castle was quiet, wasn't he? He backed off. He didn't bring her coffee. But she saw the hurt look in his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking.

And Kate remembers all too clearly that horrible twist in her stomach as she watched him walk away with his ex-wife, knowing it was her own fault. She'd been telling him no for two years. He'd finally listened.

She takes a long breath. It doesn't feel good being on this side of it, either.

* * *

><p>When he opens his front door, she can see he wasn't expecting her. "Beckett? Hi! Uh, please, come in."<p>

She smiles and steps inside. The loft is quiet. The dishwasher is open, half-filled; it looks like he was putting dishes away.

He gestures to the couch. "Can I take your jacket? Get you something to drink?"

She's tempted to accept, but honestly, if she waits she's going to lose her nerve. "I, uh - I wanted to talk to you. "

Castle looks concerned, his blue eyes warm and perceptive. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Actually - I have a story for you."

He brightens immediately, his face relaxing as he smiles. "A story? I'm touched, Beckett. You know my weakness for a good narrative."

"Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Sorry. Yes. Shutting up." He makes a zipper motion over his mouth and motions for her to continue.

Kate can't help but laugh a little. The tension melts from her shoulders. Maybe this won't be so tough. "When I was a freshman in college, I came home for Christmas. This was when I was at Stanford. So I came home, and I - I bought one of your books." She can see him light up at that, but he stops himself. Just nods. "It had just come out."

Reaching into her jacket, she pulls out a copy of _The Deadly Wind._ It's dirty, smoke-stained, the edges still crispy and dark from the explosion that destroyed her apartment. But it's intact, the title on the cover still legible.

"You - you saved this? Even after the fire?" He looks confused. Once he saw the charred remnants of her library after the explosion, he replaced her entire Richard Castle collection. Didn't say anything. She just answered the door one day to find a messenger with the complete works of Castle, as well as books by Patterson and Cannell and a few by Agatha Christie. And a note that said _I figured it'd look pretentious to only give you mine._

"You signed this one."

"I signed your book?" Castle's staring at her, wide-eyed, like it's only now registering. Logically, if he signed her book, then that means she must have - "Wait. You came to a book signing?"

Kate can't help but smile, biting her lip as the corners of her mouth turn up. "Stood in line for an hour." It was bitterly cold that day. She was half-frozen by the time she got inside the store.

It was worth it.

He's turning the half-burned book over carefully in his hands, running careful fingers down the spine, the burnt edges of the pages. "So that night at the party. That wasn't the first time we met."

"No."

"I - didn't - " He shakes his head. "I don't remember. I wish - "

"It's okay, Castle. It was a long time ago. But I got one of your handlers to take this."

She hands him the picture that was tucked inside the front of the novel. It's intact; the book protected it from the fire. He takes it with reverent fingers. The picture itself is unremarkable, not unlike a thousand other pictures he's taken for fans. His arm is around her shoulders, face beaming with an easy, photogenic grin while Kate's pressed against his side, book clutched awkwardly in her hands. He looks fresh and charming and debonair. She's bundled in a heavy coat, mittens sticking out of her pockets, her ears and nose still pink from the winter air, shy smile on her face.

Castle lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes still fixed on the photo. "I mean, I knew you were a fan - "

"It wasn't for me. It was a Christmas present. For my mom." His mouth opens silently. He wasn't expecting that. She opens the front cover of the book in his hands. "You signed it for her, Castle."

His words are still readable, though barely. _For Johanna, a _real_ defender of justice. Merry Christmas - Rick Castle_

_p.s. - Your daughter's cute._

Castle laughs. "Oh, no. I really wrote that?"

"Mom thought it was funny." Johanna had opened the book Christmas morning and laughed heartily, her eyes sparkling.

"She didn't think it was creepy?"

"Her exact words were _so did you give him your number?_" There was also something about wanting grandchildren eventually, but Castle doesn't need to hear that.

He grins, pleased. "Aha. She thought I was charming? Clearly she was a woman of impeccable taste."

"She loved your books."

He closes the book gently, pressing it back into her hands. "Thank you. I know this means a lot to you."

"I wanted you to know." She runs her thumb over the book's cover. "You were my favorite author long before I arrested you for theft and obstruction, Castle. Because you were her favorite author first."

"It's - it's humbling, Kate. It is. But - I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?"

She bites her lip. "I know you were jealous of Conrad. But did you really think I'd abandon you? He was a nice guy who was interested in police work. That's all."

Castle huffs. "He was interested in _you_."

Oh, for crying out loud. Men. "The feeling wasn't mutual, then."

Castle stuffs his hands in his pockets, his shoulders squared stubbornly. But he's losing his steam. "Well. I didn't - know that."

"I told you. I'm a one-writer girl, Castle." She takes a breath. "I always have been."

She thought that would comfort him. But - he looks away, his face downcast, and yeah. It's not just about Alex. It never really was, was it?

"Josh and I - " she falters for a second, and she can actually see the sudden shadow cross his eyes. Oh, Castle. This really did hurt him. "Castle, we broke up."

"You - " He swallows, and it's painfully obvious that he's trying not to read into anything. "When?"

"A week ago."

"You - didn't say anything." He's being cautious. His words are slow, carefully chosen. She can tell. He's forcing himself to step back.

She doesn't want him to anymore.

She takes a step forward. He doesn't move away.

"I was - it wasn't a good breakup. I haven't told anyone."

_Wasn't a good breakup_ is a drastic understatement. It was horrible. By the time she left Josh and got back to her own place, she was a quiet mess, her whole mind reeling with the vicious cut of Josh's accusations. That's why she didn't say anything. She couldn't bear the thought of pity. There are parts of her life she doesn't share - at least not easily - and she doesn't like the thought of her romantic life inspiring knowing looks and patronizing murmurs.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "Is there - is there anything I can do?"

There are a lot of possible answers to that question. And most of them Kate's not ready to say. But she keeps coming back to last spring, when he walked away with another woman and she realized she might have lost him. She's so sick of walking away.

She has no idea what to say. And she and Castle don't - _talk_ about things.

So she takes a deep breath, reaches for his face, and kisses him on the lips.

For a second he's tense with shock, and panic creeps through her chest. But just as she's about to pull away and apologize, he catches his breath, and then he's kissing her back, his arms slipping around her waist. He pulls her body into his, until their hips are flush and she can feel the rapid press of his breath against her chest. Oh. Well. She wasn't wrong, then. It turns out sometimes just kissing someone _is_ the right course of action.

"Stop thinking," he mumbles into her mouth. "You think too much."

She smiles at that, twining her arms around his neck. He hums in satisfaction as her fingers slide lazily through his soft hair. "Sorry. Can't help it."

"I'm going to have to help you with that," he grins, and then his mouth is on hers again and _oh_ maybe she's not thinking any more.

* * *

><p>Castle presses her back against the couch cushions, his hands sliding over her sides as his tongue traces the seam of her lips, teasing and playful and so perfect she can't breathe, can't -<p>

He flinches suddenly as a loud, abrupt chirp interrupts them. She's confused at first, but he sighs into her mouth. "Phone."

"Check it."

"I'd rather keep kissing you."

"_Castle_."

"Oh, _fine_." He steals one last kiss before he sits back, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He taps the screen, scanning it, and gapes. Blinks. Looks back up at her sheepishly. Oh no.

"What is it?"

He holds up his phone so she can read the message.

_Alexis called. You're finally kissing Kate? Congratulations, darling. Let's have her to dinner tomorrow._

Kate chokes, her face getting hot. "Castle - "

"Sorry." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Alexis is upstairs. I didn't realize she saw us. And my mother is, well, my mother." He tucks her hair behind her ear gently. "So. They know."

"I guess so."

Castle sets his phone on the coffee table. "So - is it okay? Dinner? With us?"

_With the family_ is what Kate hears and it's just - it's a lot. But this is it, isn't it? Castle isn't just Castle. He's a family and a home. He's more than just one person to - to care about.

"Uh. Yeah." She smiles, turns her head into his hand. "I can do that."

"It'll be great. I'll have plenty of wine. So even when Mother starts asking overly-personal questions and inquiring about future grandchildren, at least it'll be fun."

Kate chokes a little. That sounds like Martha. "Fun?"

"Don't worry." He leans in, kisses her lightly on the lips. "We can play footsie during dessert."


	40. 3x13, Knockdown 3

Yet another Knockdown kmc. This one is based on the deleted scene where Jim Beckett comes to Beckett's place to bring her some stuff, and he and Castle meet for the first time. If for some reason you haven't seen it, go to youtube now. It's adorable. Then come back and read. In my opinion, Jim Beckett is love. Every time he comes onscreen I just want to hug him.

Ten gajillion thanks to Cartographicals, Sandiane Carter and Sparklemouse for editing this. You are my dollies. _Merci_, my doves.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 40: 3x13, Knockdown 3.0 (in which there is Jim)<strong>

_Naked Heat?_

Katie opens the door, smiling, and Jim is struck for the hundred thousandth time by just how beautiful his daughter is.

"Hey."

"Hey, Dad."

He hugs her tight because whenever she talks about her mother, his heart twists and he has to remind himself that they're both okay. That she isn't falling headlong into this again, that he's not losing himself. But she hugs him back and it doesn't feel tense, or stiff, or unwilling. There's a lightness about her. Katie looks peaceful. More peaceful than she ever has when she's thinking about her mother.

God, he misses Johanna.

He lets her go. "So you're sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yeah."

Jim was worried when she called and asked for the photos and Johanna's records, but this is much better than he expected. She's calm. She doesn't have that frantic, haunted expression he remembers from so long ago, those years they were both barely hanging on. Katie looks healthy.

Jim follows her inside. He likes her apartment. She's got eclectic taste, that's for sure. The Buddha sitting beside her front door isn't quite his style. But it's warm. All the openness, the light coming in. It suits her.

There's someone sitting at her table; he stands as Jim follows Kate inside. Jim immediately recognizes the man in front of him from the books on her shelf. Well, how about that. He finally gets to meet his daughter's favorite author.

"Dad, this is Rick Castle."

Rick immediately offers his hand. "Well! Nice to finally meet you, sir."

_Sir._ Damn. Seriously? Katie hasn't had a boyfriend actually call Jim _sir _since that idiot little French duke or viscount or whoever he was, when she was a teenager. It makes him feel old.

"Yeah, I feel like I already know you. I've heard a lot of great things about you from Katie."

"Really?" Rick looks surprised at that. He glances at Kate, who just smiles and excuses herself. Rick watches her go with an undeniable tenderness in his eyes that Jim can't ignore. Huh. _If I didn't know better -_

Jim bites back a chuckle. He made that mistake once. She'd come over for dinner on one of her rare free evenings, and after yet another _Castle did this today_ story, he'd casually asked _So, are you two - dating, or - ?_ Katie had blushed bright pink and denied it vehemently. Jim had just smiled secretly into his water glass. Clearly, Rick Castle is a touchy subject.

It's been quiet for too long, so Jim says the first thing he can think of. "I, uh, read your latest book." Rick seems to brighten at that. "_Naked Heat_."

The author immediately seems to realize just how it sounds. "Oh. Uh. Well, uh, though my books are grounded in reality, a lot of the aspects of them are - are just - pure fantasy." Oh, yikes. Don't need to hear that. That didn't help. Rick's eyes get wide. "Not my - not my - my _personal_ fantasy. Just - out of my imagination." No, no no no. Still not helping. Rick stumbles to catch himself - "Not that I'm - imagining that all the time. Just - uh - I'm - not doing a very good job explaining myself, am I?"

"I think you're doing fine, Rick." It's not Rick's fault Katie is so gorgeous. Though maybe it would be nice if the book she's inspired didn't have a naked woman on the cover.

"You're very kind."

Jim decides to put the poor man out of his misery. "How's she holding up?"

"Uh - you know - " There's a long moment where he's not sure if Rick's going to be honest, but the younger man sits, and it seems like he just...breaks open. "Sometimes it's hard to tell. She doesn't flinch."

Isn't that the truth. "I know. She wouldn't have a nightlight when she was a little girl. Not that she wasn't, you know, afraid of the dark. I think it was just a point of pride for her to - stare it down." He remembers it like it was yesterday, coming into her room to find tiny Katie curled up in a ball, her eyes wide, the nightlight they'd gotten her pulled out of the wall socket. Johanna had tried to plug it back in, but Katie shook her head. She hasn't changed.

Rick's watching her again through the doorway as she carefully sorts through the pictures, and Jim decides this might be the right time. "You know, Johanna and I were colleagues for almost three years? People talk about being struck by a bolt of lightning. With us it was more of a - slow burn." That - seems to resonate. Rick's smiling. "It took me three years to figure out I was in love with her. And - I would give _anything_ to have a minute of that time back. You know, you think you're going to have all the time in the world. But no one does."

He misses Jo so much right now, so fiercely, his love knotted in his chest for the woman he'd hoped to spend his life with. And Rick - there's a stricken look on his face. He looks like he understands. Like maybe he's been working with Katie for three years and that's not a coincidence.

Jim knows a man in love when he sees one.

"If you care about her, don't let my daughter lose another twelve years of her life to this, Rick."

There's a long silence, but before Rick can say anything, Kate comes back in, smiling. She doesn't seem to see the way Rick's watching her. Like his heart is in his throat and he's about to just say it all. "Thanks for bringing these over, Dad."

Jim clears his throat. "Well, uh. if you need anything else, just - give me a call, sweetheart."

"Actually, Dad, it's almost noon. Why don't you stay for lunch?" Katie looks at him almost shyly, and Jim can see the little girl, her eyes wide in her dark bedroom, longing but determined to be the brave one. He hears the subtext under her words: _I don't want you to leave so fast, Dad. _

"I'd like that."

Rick grins. "I can ask you about all those delightfully embarrassing tales of young Kate Beckett I'm so interested in hearing."

Kate rolls her eyes, and Jim can't help but laugh. They're like kids on a playground. "Well, did she ever tell you about the clown at her seventh birthday party?"

"_Dad!"_ Her cheeks are pink and she's trying to glare at him, but she's smiling so much it doesn't work.

Jim holds up his hands, placating. "Okay. Maybe not. No story then."

Rick pouts, but Kate huffs sternly. "I never should have let you two meet. Castle, why don't you get lunch so I can tell my dad which stories are off-limits." Rick quickly pulls out his phone and steps into the kitchen.

So far, Jim has noticed a few things about Rick Castle.

Rick already knows about Johanna. And Kate isn't open. Not with people she doesn't trust.

Rick calls the Chinese place and asks Jim for his order, but already seems to know Kate's.

When Rick teases her, she _laughs_.

And Jim can't help but notice that Rick Castle is the first man Kate's introduced to him since -

- since she almost ended up Mrs. Will Sorenson.

* * *

><p>Lunch is quiet and friendly. And only very mildly uncomfortable.<p>

Jim keeps an eye on his daughter. She smiles, and she laughs, and she eats well enough that he doesn't worry. But she's watching Rick. And Rick is watching her, and watching Jim, and she's also watching Jim watching Rick. Everyone's - observing. Carefully.

For his part, Jim has to keep himself from smiling too widely. Because his daughter might pride herself on her calm demeanor and her perfect composure, but he knows her too well. He knows that quick smile, the way her eyes drop when she's self-conscious, the way she ducks her head instinctively when she's afraid she's giving too much away. Katie's all determined and fierce and independent, sure, but if his daughter's not at least a little bit in love with Rick Castle, well, Jim will eat his hat.

And Rick? Please. The man's not even hiding it.

Katie swats Rick's hand away when he tries to steal one of her wontons. "Castle, stop. _Stop_. You had yours."

"You would hit me in front of your father?"

"Don't steal my food."

"Rick, you probably shouldn't take her lunch," Jim points out mildly between bites of chicken. "She has a gun."

* * *

><p>After they finish eating, Jim takes over dishwashing, purposely leaving the two of them to clear up the table together. Kate shoots him a look - she's not stupid - but he just shoos her away and runs water into the sink. Let the kids talk. Give them their space.<p>

He can hear soft snatches of a conversation floating in. _Kate._

_Castle -_

_- can't help it -_

She says something too quietly, and then Rick's voice again, low and earnest. _We never talk about this, Kate. Why not?_

It sounds private, so he lingers. Let them have some space. Whenever it's about Johanna, he treads lightly. Katie's a strong woman, but that's her weak spot. He knows she still hurts over it. He does too. It's a pain that never goes away; the best it ever becomes is bearable. And after all this time, after Katie dragged him out of that darkness that almost killed him, it still catches him off-guard sometimes, the way his chest aches when he remembers that police officer standing at their front door, the moment he thought nothing would ever be okay, ever again.

Jim dries off the last dish - he found a small pile of them already stacked in the sink, so he washed those too, figuring she probably gets busy enough that she might not have time - and puts everything away. Rinsing out the washcloth, he wipes down the counters, straightens her coffeemaker, and runs the cloth over her stove before finally rinsing it and wiping off the sink and faucet.

Hmm. It's gotten quiet. Rick didn't leave, did he?

Laying the washcloth out to dry, Jim ducks back into the office. "Katie, did - oh."

They're kissing.

It looks timid, innocent, almost unsure. Rick's hand is on her cheek, and for a split second Jim thinks the scene in front of him is perfect. Soft. Gentle. Openly loving.

But they jerk apart instantly, and Kate covers her mouth, almost as if she's trying to hide it. Jim coughs a little. It's been a long time since he caught his daughter kissing a boy. "Oh. Uh. Sorry, you two."

Katie chokes a little. "Dad - Dad, it - it's not - "

"No, no. It's my fault. Didn't mean to startle you," Jim says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Rick looks scared as hell. Poor guy. If lunch was awkward, this is - well, considerably more awkward.

Katie murmurs something like _excuse me_ and ducks back into the kitchen, leaving Jim alone with the man who wrote _Naked Heat_ about her.

To his credit, Rick looks properly mortified. "Look, sir - "

"Oh, don't call me 'sir.' Makes me feel like a fossil."

"Mr. Beckett -"

"Seriously. Just call me Jim."

Rick chuckles weakly. "Right. Jim. I - look, this has never - I mean, we're not - together."

"If you don't mind me asking, Rick - why not?"

Rick looks down, and Jim sees a flash of genuine pain in the man's face. "She - she's seeing someone. Someone else."

Oh. She...hasn't mentioned that. She's seeing someone? A different man? Who is he? What kind of guy is he? Why hasn't she -

Not the time for that now. "I know you care about her. Just - don't give up on her, okay?"

"Jim, I appreciate it, but she's got someone else. He's - "

"He's _not here_." Jim fixes the younger man with a sharp look. "And you are. Don't think that means nothing." Rick stares at him, eyes wide, and Jim thinks - he _hopes_ - he's touched a nerve. "And between you and me, son, when Katie was in high school, some boy she didn't like tried to kiss her once. He got a bloody nose. My daughter doesn't accept a kiss she doesn't want."

Rick lets out a short laugh, his shoulders relaxing a little. "That - I could see that, actually."

"It's not my place," Jim shrugs. "But you seem like a good man. And if she's letting you in, it means she wants you here. This - this whole - you know, I think. What it did to us. To me."

Rick looks away. "I. Yeah. She - told me."

"She mentioned you have a daughter, right? In high school?" The writer nods. "Then you know. You know how they grow into amazing people, brave and strong and so much more than you ever thought. She saved me. And I'm asking you, Rick. Take care of her. She's everything to me. And if she trusts you, then I do too."

* * *

><p>Katie comes back in then, her face less flushed, her eyes still bright. And the quick look she gives Rick is - shy. Conflicted. Unsure. But then, she's dating someone else, isn't she? Some phantom man who's not here and doesn't seem to realize she needs someone.<p>

She and Rick need to talk about – whatever this is.

Jim excuses himself and leaves, twisting his keys in his pocket. It's chilly outside, but sunny, and he can't help but smile as he heads for the subway. Rick Castle. Huh.

He misses Johanna every day, but the absence has lost its bitterness. The ache is gentler. He can remember her without anger now. Remember her for the beautiful, dazzling woman she was. Love her for the wonderful daughter they raised.

Johanna used to tell him not to scare Katie's boyfriends in high school. _Jim. Stop it. You're overreacting. He's not _that_ bad. _

And for once, Jim's met a guy he thinks might actually be good enough for her.


	41. 4x10, Cuffed

This is another chapter where I'm just going to quietly pretend it really happened. Because, well, I can.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 41: 4x10, Cuffed<strong>

_Next time_?

Kate's groggy and dizzy and limp and curled against a warm body.

She takes a long breath and huddles closer. This is nice.

Her head is still spinning, mild but persistent, like the tail end of a hangover. She squeezes her eyes shut, draws in a long breath through her nose. It's not so bad. She trails her hand lightly over the man's chest, rising and falling steadily with his breath. Her fingers trace over the soft fabric of his shirt, over the subtle lines of his muscles. He lets out a soft noise, and she feels his hand brush over her hip. She holds her breath, waiting, her face getting hot as his fingers slide up over her stomach. His palm spreads over her breast, squeezing gently, soft and teasing. Mmm, oh yes. That feels good. So good. Arousal uncurls in her veins, lazy and loose and syrupy and delicious. Even still muffled with sleep, she leans into the heat of his body, smiling into his shoulder. The warm body shifts beside her. She can feel hot breath on her face, blooming over her skin. A shudder runs through her. And when his mouth covers hers, she kisses him back.

God, it feels good. His lips are slow and warm and lazy and his tongue slides into her mouth and oh yeah. Oh yeah. His thumb traces light circles on the curve of her breast and she lets out a soft moan because _damn_. She's not even awake, not really, everything is blurry and she might still be asleep, but her body is ready to go. Right now.

It's been a long time since she woke up beside someone. She's not - she's pretty sure they haven't - at least she doesn't _feel_ like she did. And she's wearing clothes, she's certain. So. Well. It's still nice. She might really be dreaming, since everything is still vague in her mind and she's floating on a soft, milky cloud that's just the heat of a strong body and a soft mouth and nothing else matters.

His tongue teases hers, playful, soft and a little sloppy, and it's all so _good._ And right. And…comfortable. Familiar. Like she's done this before. Like she's tasted this mouth, this tongue, felt the –

Oh God. She _has_ kissed this mouth before.

No, no no no –

But she opens her eyes and sure enough, it's him. The man with the mouth she kissed once - okay, fine, twice - and whose body against hers right now is sending all sorts of delightful naked fantasies through her woozy, filterless mind.

Castle hums softly in the back of his throat. "Don't get up yet. Stay in bed."

Oh jeez. Not - not like this - "Castle!"

"Kate." He blinks fuzzily. "Hi."

Shit, _shit_, he can't do that, can't say her name like that. Not in that delicious, low voice, all grumbly and rich and sleepy and sexy. Not when he just had his hand on her –

"Castle."

"What?"

"Stop saying _what _and wake up!"

Castle turns his head, and suddenly her wrist twists painfully as his arm jerks. "Handcuffed?" He lets out a breath. "Kinky."

"Castle, it's not funny." She grits her teeth. Handcuffs. They're _handcuffed._ Together. Why? What karmic force did she piss off this badly? What the hell is going on?

"I didn't say _funny_, I said _kinky._ And I didn't cuff us."

"You think _I _cuffed us?" She is absolutely not thinking about it. Not even a little bit. She is not thinking about handcuffs and her headboard and Castle's wrists. No. Never.

"Well, they look like police cuffs."

"Someone else did this to us." That explains the grogginess. They have to have been drugged. This isn't good.

She sits up because she can't handle lying in bed with Castle any longer. The movement drags him with her awkwardly, and once the brief dizziness subsides, she gets a real look at their surroundings. Dark. Cavernous. Empty. This doesn't look promising.

The mattress dips as Castle settles closer to her, and she shuts her eyes. Please don't let him have been awake. Let him think it was all a dream. All of it. She can pack it away and pretend it never happened, and he can chalk it up to whatever drug knocked them out. She can deal with that. She's just going to never think about it. Ever again.

He clears his throat. "Just for the record, I'm sorry I grabbed your -"

"_Castle!_"

* * *

><p>[an: This one is for cartographical, because she has always urged me to explore boob-grabbing as a viable plot option. Working title here was actually just 'kmc boobgrab.']


	42. 2x23, Overkill

On November 23, 2011, I posted the very first chapter of KMC. Hard to believe we've passed the one-year mark. As always, I'm grateful to all you wonderful readers and reviewers, and to wonderful editors Sparklemouse, chezchuckles and Sandiane Carter.

Bushels of love to Cartographical for editing this chapter, and for all her amazing help throughout this series. My stalky leopard.

Queen of editing,  
>docile, sweet, pleasant, gentle:<br>Cartographical.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 42: 2x23, Overkill<strong>

_We make a good team._

Case closed. Kate actually gets home at a godly hour. Tom wanted her to come over, but - she just - she couldn't form a _yes_ and so he kissed her goodnight and left.

It should have been an easy choice. It should. Tom's hot. He's normal. He's easy to deal with. He's been straightforward about the fact that he likes her. He really, really likes her. This shouldn't even be a question, should it?

Too much to figure out right now. She shrugs out of her work clothes and pulls on yoga pants and a t-shirt. She's tired. She just wants to relax.

She's in her kitchen, reaching for a water glass, when there's a knock at the door.

Who – it's not Tom, is it? He was nice about it, but she could tell he was hoping she'd stay over tonight. And she just - she doesn't -

She opens it to find Castle, of all people, leaning on the doorframe with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Castle? What are you doing here?"

"If I had asked you out two weeks ago, would you have said yes?"

"What?" What is he -

"Would you have gone to dinner with me?"

"Castle - " He can't be serious, but - his face. His eyes are so keen, so bright, blazing into her, and she's mesmerized. "I - " Her voice falters as she suddenly realizes she doesn't know.

She really doesn't know.

"I just - I think you don't realize that I'm serious, Kate." She swallows hard when he uses her first name. "But I am. I'm interested in you."

"What?" She can't really form words beyond _what, _because this absolutely cannot be happening.

"And it's not just - I mean, I've always been attracted to you, but it's not just like that. You're smart. And funny. And beautiful. And - and everything about you is so far _beyond _extraordinary." His voice floats over her, low and rich and so warmly sincere it sends a shiver down her spine. "And I know I was a jerk to you at first. But I like you, Kate. And I think if we give it a chance, we could really be something."

It can't be real. It can't. But God, now she's thinking about it. About him. About the words _us_ and _we_ and _extraordinary_.

The only word she can come up with for Tom is _hot_. There are so many other words that are just _missing_.

"Kate - " Castle takes a deep breath. "Kate, I'm going to kiss you. If you let me."

Her mouth goes dry as he leans in. Too close. Too much. This isn't right, it's too fast, this isn't like him and they don't _talk_ about this. But she can't shape her mouth into a _no_, and he must take her silence as permission because she gets a single breath and his hands come to her face and then he's kissing her.

It's - not what she expected. It's gentle. It's warm and soft and delicate and she's honestly too shocked to realize she should really step away. Or slap him. Or not kiss him back. Or do something other than, well, _let_ him. But - but -

- but it's _perfect_.

He finally pulls away and she can hardly breathe.

When she slowly opens her eyes, it's a mistake. His eyes are so bright, so endlessly blue, and any protest she might make is dead on her lips. She liked it. She wants to do it again.

And he knows, of course he does. Because he _knows_ her. He runs his thumb over the swell of her bottom lip and she actually feels herself getting lightheaded.

He leans in and she thinks he's going to kiss her again. Her eyes flicker shut. But instead of her mouth, his lips graze the curve of her jaw, slow and deliberate and hot. He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek, lingering, whispering directly into her ear.

"Just give me a chance, Kate."

He steals one last brief kiss. Then with a gentle brush of his fingertips to her cheek, he takes a step back and turns to leave.


	43. 1x03, Hedge Fund Homeboys

Thanks to Sparklemouse and Cartographicals for editing this one!

Here I've taken (generous) liberty with a scene about 16:00 into episode 1x3; in the ep, Kate's at the station and Castle comes running in with a brilliant theory. Naturally, he's very Castle-y about it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 43: 1x3, Hedge Fund Homeboys<strong>

_Oh, I like that._

Kate's settled at her desk, enjoying the quiet peace of the early morning precinct as she makes phone calls, when the quiet is rudely banished by the clomping footsteps of a bouncy Richard Castle. Oh, _why_. Her life used to make sense, back before her own personal cocker spaniel came tearing in, yipping and trying to climb into her lap and lick her face and -

Stop.

She sternly shuts down any mental connection between Rick Castle and tongue.

Kate opens her mouth to ask what new idiocy he's cooked up, but suddenly he's lunging forward in his eagerness to speak. And before she can stop him, he's just inches away.

"Why didn't Donny's friends just give him the money?"

Kate freezes. Too close. Way too close. Not okay. Proximity alarms are blaring in her mind.

But this is Rick Castle, who lives his life in other people's personal bubbles. And his face is right_ there_ and his eyes - his eyes are so impossibly blue. And oh, he smells so good. He smells delicious.

She finally gets her voice back. Bad. This is bad. Right. "You know you could just call when you get an idea, right?"

Castle blinks, his eyes flicking down at her chest (come _on_, she's wearing a turtleneck), before he starts grinning, because this over-observant bastard knows exactly what he's doing. "A little too cozy for you, Detective?"

"Castle, _move_." She plants a hand on his shoulder and shoves, pushing him back into his chair clumsily. He lands with an _oomph_, and she tells herself she's not still smelling the warm trace of his cologne. Because she's not. At all.

He feigns a deeply wounded expression and she kind of hates how cute he is. "In the interest of honest communication, you should know that I feel kind of rejected."

"You'll get over it. So what were you saying about Donny?"

"Nothing." He folds his hands in his lap with a haughty expression.

She furrows her brow. "But I thought you -"

"No. You reject me? You don't get my theories, either."

With an exaggerated pout, Castle takes a deep breath and holds it, puffing up his cheeks. Oh come _on_. Seriously.

It's secretly kind of adorable but she makes herself not smile.

"Castle."

He folds his arms.

"Castle. Stop it."

He shakes his head.

"Oh, for - "

She sighs and reaches out quickly to pinch his nose shut.

He scowls and tries to twist away, but soon gives up, gasping for breath. "That's not fair," he chokes out. "You're no fun at all. You ruin fun."

She glances around furtively. Almost no one's here. And no one is looking.

Before she can think too much, she leans in, grabs his ear to tug him closer, and kisses him lightly on the lips.

It's just a peck, quicker than a breath. By the time he seems to process it, she's back in her seat, wiping her mouth and turning to her computer to hide her blushing cheeks.

Castle's staring at her, slack-jawed. She has to bite back the smirk that wants to escape.

"You - you just -"

"Use your words, Castle." She folds her arms over her chest, quirking an eyebrow at him. He's fishing for words, trying to come up with something, when -

"Morning, Castle. Beckett."

Ryan calls to them; he and Esposito are walking in, chatting. Castle perks up before she can stop him. Oh, crap.

"Guys! Guys."

"What happened, Bro? You find a version of that coat in a men's department?" Esposito mutters. Ryan snorts, reaching out for a high five.

But Castle's not fazed. "You guys. She kissed me. Beckett just kissed me."

"Castle. Slow down. Breathe." Esposito slaps him on the back; it was clearly meant to be friendly, but Castle winces. "Now try again."

"Kate Beckett just kissed me. On the mouth. On purpose."

Ryan snorts. "Uh-huh. Right. In the middle of the precinct."

"She did!" Castle turns back to her for support, but she just shakes her head at Ryan and Esposito, rolling her eyes. Castle sputters. "You - stop it, Beckett. You're lying. She's lying," he informs the boys, who look unimpressed. Kate just watches, fighting the impish grin that keeps threatening to overtake her face. No one's going to believe him.

Esposito folds his arms. "You kiss him?"

"No."

Esposito shrugs. "There you go. Dream on, Bro."

"But she _really did_. I swear. She kissed me." Esposito just shakes his head as Castle whines. "Beckett, come _on_. Tell them the truth."

"Castle, I really don't have time to feed your delusions." Beckett leans back in her seat, biting her cheeks.

"Guys, I know this seems like something that wouldn't happen, but it really, really did. She just grabbed my face and went for it."

"Riiiiiiiiiight," Ryan drawls. "Just - like that. Just for fun."

"Yes. Wait. You're being sarcastic?"

"Uhhh. _Yeah_."

"Castle, how about we go do actual work and let you sit there and keep thinking about that thing that clearly didn't just happen?" Esposito waves goodbye and heads back to his desk with Ryan, shaking his head, muttering something that sounds like _delusional idiot_ and _wishful thinking_.

Kate finally sneaks a look back at Castle and finds him watching her with narrowed eyes. "What?"

He scowls and it's still adorable. "Don't _what_ me. You lied."

She lowers her voice. "You can't prove it."

Castle eyes her for a long moment, and then his eyes light up. Oh...he just thought of something. "Wait. You kissed me. Then pretended it didn't happen."

She keeps her mouth shut.

"You liked it, didn't you?" She rolls her eyes, but he continues. "I'm right. You liked it. You're embarrassed for the guys to realize you were just making out with m-"

"We were _not_ making out!" she hisses at him, her face getting hot.

"So what _were_ we doing?"

He's got that smug look on his face. He thinks he's got her cornered.

Kate leans in, never breaking his gaze. She bites her lip and watches his eyes get dark. Oh.

"Nice try, Castle."

* * *

><p>He leaves her desk to fetch her more coffee. Her phone buzzes. Incoming text message.<p>

_Are you still daydreaming about that racy, passionate liplock we shared? It's okay if you are._

She's about to reply _It was more like a hiccup_ but - no. Of course. He's trying to get her to incriminate herself.

He's been paying attention in interrogation, it seems.

So she just smiles and pushes her phone away. He comes back in minutes later with coffee, an almost-contrite expression and big blue eyes that aren't nearly as innocent as he's hoping they are. They're sparkling far too much.

* * *

><p>A week later, she finds herself stuck at her desk, filling out multiple tedious arrest reports, while Castle amuses himself with some new gizmo on his phone. She doesn't understand why he's still here - he's not actually helping, so what's the point?<p>

"Why don't you go home?" she asks, only half-irritated. It's more just curious at this point.

He flashes her a grin. "More exciting things happen here."

"This is paperwork."

Castle shrugs. "But at any moment, you might jump out of your seat and attack me with a k-"

"Shut _up_."

He shuts up but he keeps _looking_ at her with those laughing blue eyes, and it's almost worse than him talking. Almost.

* * *

><p>She lasts four days.<p>

Four days of Castle watching her with that look. That knowing, smug look. Like he knows things. Like he's _doing_ things. And he's not, he does _not_ get to...touch her. No. So he has no business watching her like he's just eaten dinner and she's dessert.

But she can't help her reaction. And she almost hates him for being able to disarm her so easily. Because he knows. He can see the flush that rises in her cheeks whenever he lets her catch him staring at her mouth.

Finally one evening Kate escapes to the break room. Someone thoughtfully left both regular and decaf, so she mixes up a cup of half-caff blend and stirs it slowly. He keeps staying late, even when she tells him to go home. Like he thinks he's going to get something if he stays. He's not. But he's still _here_.

She lingers at the counter, staring at her coffee cup, lost in thought. She doesn't hear the door creak open, doesn't hear footsteps.

And then suddenly he's there, his body pressed up against her back. Her ass is firmly cradled in his hips and she sucks in a sharp breath, her body tense, heat burning deep in her belly. She curls her fingers around the counter.

"Beckett." She swallows. His breath is hot on her neck and his voice is low, rumbly. Delicious. "Kate."

She'd had every intention of pushing him away, but the way he says _Kate_, all soft and husky and a little teasing, it's too much. Her mind is swamped with it, with his bedroom voice and other things she wants to hear him say, and the slow roll of his hips against hers is just so unbearably hot, pressure right where she wants it. She has no words.

"We both know what you did," he murmurs into her ear. Her eyes flicker shut. "And you know what I think?" She sucks in a shaky breath. "I think you want to do it again."

She won't tell Castle he's right. She won't. "What makes you so sure?" she manages.

"You're not stopping me."

His mouth just barely grazes her throat and her mouth opens in a soundless gasp. His fingers slide over her hip. She should stop him. She needs to stop him. Right now.

She turns around and kisses him.

He reacts instantly, kissing her back, his tongue stroking her lower lip before sweeping hotly into her mouth. She whimpers low in her throat, twining her hands in his hair. He's relentless. His tongue traces wetly over the ridge at the top of her mouth and a noise escapes her, some soft, high-pitched mewl that would be embarrassing but she's so far gone at this point she just doesn't care.

His thigh slides between hers, wedging her between him and the cabinets, and the sudden tight pressure makes her gasp. It's been a long, long time. And this is all kinds of wrong but it feels so _good_.

And then his fingers slip under her shirt, his touching burning on her skin, and she arches into him, nipping at his bottom lip, and he -

"Holy _shit_."

Kate freezes. No. No, no no no.

Karpowski's leaning in the doorway with a shit-eating grin on her face. "Hello there, Beckett. Mr. Castle. Nice night for baseball. Didn't realize you already made it to second base."

"Ros -"

"No, no, let me guess." Karpowski's laughing at them. Kate wants to sink into the floor and die. "You're going to tell me it's not what it looks like, right?"

"We - were just - " Kate chokes. There's no way to finish that sentence.

"What, letting him taste your coffee?"

"_Ros_."

"All _right_, all right." Karpowski raises her hands in peace. "Fine. I saw nothing. All strictly professional. No one got their hands up anyone's shirt."

Kate lets out a breath. "Thanks."

Ros points at her. "You _owe_ me."

She walks out shaking her head, and Kate groans, covering her face with her hands. Great. Just great.

"Uh. Beckett?"

She looks up to find Castle still hovering there, an unreadable expression on his face.

"What?"

"I mean, not that - " he rubs his neck - "it - I know you weren't - not - willing with all this - but - what's going on?"

Oh.

This - this is new. Castle's not hesitant. He doesn't question things. He must not have thought she'd - give in?

Screw it.

(She likes him. _Likes,_ likes him.)

She shrugs, biting her lip. He's cute when he's confused.

"You're a good kisser."


	44. 4x18, A Dance With Death

From the episode in which Martha met up with that theater critic who panned her back in the 80's. What if Castle had invited Kate to join them for dinner?

Thanks to the awesome Sparklemouse for editing.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 44: 4x18, A Dance With Death<strong>

_That would be an incredible twist_.

Kate fully intends to go home and have a quiet evening. Until Castle catches her before he leaves.

"Will you come over?"

"What?"

"Please. Come to dinner." He fixes her with those big warm eyes of his, so gentle and earnest, and oh no, she can already feel herself weakening. He's too good at this. "Mother likes you. If you're there, she'll be nice. You can charm this critic. And if something does happen, you have a gun. And handcuffs."

Castle eyes her with a look that's too warm, too earnest, too sincere, and damn it, damn it -

"All right. Fine." It's just dinner. It's not even a date. She's just agreeing to be there for crowd control.

At a family dinner.

She's been doing this recently, spending time with the Castles. After the bank. Holding Castle's hand watching his mother's mostly fictional one-woman show. It made her blood warm, that soft, innocent contact. Because he didn't shrug her hand off. They held hands for the rest of the show.

And now she's playing referee at another family dinner.

She bites her lip and tucks her hair behind her ear and gives up fighting the smile that takes over her lips. Because his grin is contagious.

* * *

><p>The irate theater critic storms out the front door.<p>

A hysterical Martha bolts from the room and Castle follows with Alexis, trying to calm her down, leaving Kate alone at the table.

She sits motionless. She has no idea what to do.

That...was all kinds of awful.

At a loss - she doesn't feel comfortable following them, but she doesn't just want to leave - she takes a deep breath, sets her napkin on the table, and starts stacking plates. She's collecting silverware when she hears footsteps, and turns to find Alexis.

"Oh." The girl blinks. "You - you don't have to - "

"It's, uh. Fine. I didn't know what else to do."

Alexis smiles softly. Wow. It's been a long time since Castle's daughter has smiled at her. "Well, thanks."

"Is she - okay?"

The girl nods. "She's just upset. Dad's talking to her now."

Kate nods, slowly piling the napkins together. She's not sure what to say. She doesn't know where she stands with this girl, not now, not after so much. But -

"Kate." Alexis hesitates. "Thank you."

There's a soft look in Alexis' blue eyes, so much like her father's, and in spite of everything, even after that terrible day they both thought Castle and his mother had been killed in an explosion, Kate thinks - she hopes - there's a seed, a tiny sapling of peace that can sprout between them.

They finish cleaning up dinner together in tentative, comfortable silence.

* * *

><p>Castle comes hustling into the precinct the next morning with coffee and cream cheese danishes and apologetic eyes. "Look, I'm sorry - I'm <em>really<em> sorry about dinner last night. That was horrific."

Her lips quirk. "It was - mildly uncomfortable."

He shudders. "It was awful. Can I at least buy you a drink to make up for it?"

"You trying to ply me with alcohol so I'll forget it happened?"

"Yes."

She laughs at that. At least he's being honest. "Sure."

* * *

><p>The Old Haunt is open but not crowded, all smoky golden light and gleaming, polished wood and glass. The piano's closed up; apparently Sid's off for the evening. Glenn Miller floats through the speakers.<p>

Castle gets drinks and they settle at a booth tucked in the back of the bar, quiet, where no one will bother them. It's _their_ spot; when the boys come with them they'll usually sit up front, near the pool table and dartboard. But lately, when it's just them, just the two of them, they inevitably end up in the most secluded part of the room. It's probably not a good idea. But in the dim, smoky light, his eyes are deep, rich blue. And he looks at her like he thinks she's beautiful.

And every time they go, it feels more and more like a proper date, until maybe someday they'll just quietly step over that line without realizing it.

Tonight he's in a good mood, watching her over his glass with a smile, the kind that lights up his whole face and makes her blush for no reason. "You know, that dance show's pretty entertaining."

She laughs. "I'll have to take your word for it. I don't know the first thing about dancing."

"I gotta say, I'm surprised." Castle swirls the scotch around in his glass. "I would've pegged you for a dancer."

"Never really my thing."

"Nice to know there's at least one aspect of culture in which I've surpassed you, then."

Kate shoots him a baleful look. "Oh, _have_ you."

"I will have you know, Detective, I'm an excellent dancer."

"Of course you are."

He shoots her an arch look. "You don't believe me?"

Kate props her chin on her hand. "No. I really don't."

Castle shoots her a mock-wounded look. "Beckett. I'm hurt. I'm wounded. I can't believe you would accuse me of lying in this vital matter."

She can't stop smiling. "I'm sure you'll get over it, Castle."

He briefly sends her puppy dog eyes before turning around. "Hey, Linda? You busy right now?"

The waitress clearing one of the nearby tables looks up. "You need something, Mr. Castle?"

"Linda, I told you. It's Rick." He waves her over. "Come here. I'd like you to meet my friend Kate. From the police station."

"Hi." Kate shakes hands with the older woman. "You work for Castle?"

"Eh. He thinks he runs the place."

"Hey. I _do_ run the place."

Linda pats his cheek affectionately. "Sure you do, hon."

He scowls at her. "Well. Fine. But Kate and I were just talking, and she doesn't seem to believe that I'm a good dancer."

"Rick's a very good dancer," Linda says immediately.

Castle beams. "See?"

"From a witness with a vested interest in keeping you happy," Kate points out. "Hardly unbiased testimony."

Linda grins. "I like her. She's smarter than you."

"Stop ganging up on me," Castle scowls. "Fine. Linda, would you join me? Apparently I need to prove myself."

Linda just chuckles, wiping her hands on her towel and tossing it over her shoulder. "Lead on, sweetie."

Kate leans back in the booth, smiling over the rim of her glass as she watches Castle flip to a new song on the stereo and take Linda's hand. The music starts and Castle shoots her an exaggerated wink before he starts to move.

He's _good_.

He twirls Linda around the floor with practiced ease, light on his feet, flashing Kate a smug grin every time he executes a graceful turn. He's very obviously showing off for her benefit. Linda just rolls her eyes and goes with it. It's delightful.

The song ends and Castle twirls Linda into an overly-dramatic dip before letting her go with a gentlemanly bow. Linda offers him a mock-salute and goes back to wiping down tables and clearing glasses, and Castle turns back to Kate, arms folded. "Well, Detective Skeptical?"

"I'm - actually impressed. How'd you turn into Fred Astaire?"

"My mother's a Broadway actress. I grew up helping her learn steps."

She nods. "Right." It makes sense. A picture forms in her mind, a little brown-haired boy and his mother pushing chairs to the side of a tiny living room and patiently walking though foxtrots and two-steps and waltzes and tap routines. An adorable little boy in his sock feet, with a crinkly smile and big blue eyes.

"Yeah." He grins. "To this day, I can perform the entire opening tap sequence from that _42nd Street _production Mother did once."

"Care to demonstrate?"

"Not really. I'm too sober to do that right now."

She laughs, draining her glass. "I'll keep that in mind, then."

"You going to get me drunk and take advantage of my...dance skills, Beckett?" He shoots her a smoldering look, and she can't stop smiling, even as her cheeks get warm.

"You're safe, Mr. Baryshnikov."

He moves as if to sit, but pauses as the music changes. His eyes light up.

"Come on."

"What?"

"Dance with me."

As _Night and Day _floats out of the speakers, Castle holds out his hand and Kate swallows, trying to ignore the soft wave of - something - that curls through her chest. "No, Castle, I - don't dance. Not like this." Not in his embrace, pressed against his body, her hand clasped in his. Not when there's nowhere to hide.

"It's okay. I'll show you." Castle takes her hand before she can pull back, his thumb tracing lightly over her skin. Her mouth goes dry. "Trust me, Kate."

And then he's tugging her to her feet before she can protest, pulling her closer until she's in his arms. He knows what he's doing; his left hand cradles her right and his free hand slides gently over her back. Oh. This - it's - it feels so good. It shouldn't. It feels amazing. This is -

"Kate," he murmurs into her ear, his nose brushing softly against her cheek. She shivers as his words warm her skin. "Relax. This isn't a punishment."

Kate huffs out a short laugh, but right now she's not so sure he's right. It feels like a punishment. It's taunting her. _You could have this, you know. You could. If you weren't broken._

"You okay?"

She looks up, startled, to find Castle watching her.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem a little - tense." He pauses, his hand on her waist holding her still for a moment. "If you - if you really don't want to dance, Kate, it's okay. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, no." It's not like that. It's good. It's too good. "I just don't get to dance like this very often." She takes a long breath as he starts moving again, back to their slow, easy rhythm.

He takes her hand and leads her through a spin. He's a good partner; she lets him guide her through the steps and she ends up neatly in his arms. He smiles. "You're good at this."

"Not like you," she murmurs shakily. He's too close. Too warm.

"You just need practice," he whispers into her ear. "You'll be great."

She's not sure if he's still talking about dancing. They danced once before, in a noisy, crowded ballroom, back when she hated him and he knew it and he liked to prod her. But it was nothing like this. The music floats around them like silk, twining them together like a ribbon, settling heavy in her limbs and tugging her into his body. Heating her blood with lyrics like _I think of you day and night_ and _This longing for you follows wherever I go._ Maybe she shouldn't have agreed to this.

Or maybe she should have done this a long time ago.

He's been waiting for so long. He's a good man. He loves her. And she's so tired, so horribly tired, of running away.

Kate lets out a long breath and sinks into him, warm and unresisting in his embrace. He seems to sense the change; he doesn't say anything, but she can feel the hitch in his breath as she settles into his touch.

"Sorry if my hand's sweaty."

"Nah." His fingers curl around hers. "It's fine."

His right hand is settled on the small of her back, and at first it's still. But then, so gentle she almost misses it, his thumb starts moving. It's just a light touch, soft circles over the curve of her spine. At first she thinks it's involuntary, or accidental, or - or something.

Until he does it again.

It can't be anything but a caress. It's too tender. Too intimate. She swallows hard, her back arching just a bit under his touch, and she feels him start against her. He felt that. He knows. He knows this isn't innocent.

Her palms are definitely sweating but he still isn't letting go.

He lets out a warm breath against her skin and she shivers because she can feel him smiling against her. He's smiling against her temple, his lips pressed gently against her skin. He has to be feeling her pulse; it's thrumming so quick in her veins that she's trembling. She didn't expect this. She feels _fragile_. She feels vulnerable.

So this is what it's like to let it happen.

Her left hand is settled on his shoulder. She takes a deep breath and curls it around the nape of his neck, twining her fingers through the short, silky hair there. Castle stiffens, his hand on her back tightening, pulling her even closer into the line of his body.

She thinks she can feel just the lightest brush of a kiss as he pulls his lips away from her temple. She blinks - her eyes suddenly feel so heavy - and looks up into his gaze.

Kate swallows - she has no words when he's looking at her like this, like he's in love with her (and he _is_) and he looks like he's about to say something when the music whispers _and this torment won't be through...till you let me spend my life making love to you.._.

Her heart stumbles in her chest, because his eyes have gone dark blue with naked _want_ and she's drowning, so wrapped up in the smell of his cologne and the safety, the warmth of being surrounded by him. And some quiet old jazz standard has just said that thing they never talk about, that thing that's been following them around for a year, the cloud of love and longing that hovers over her whenever he's with her. Her whole body is full of sparks, alive and aware like her veins are shimmering with champagne instead of blood.

And he's already so close that it barely takes any motion at all for her to lean forward and kiss him gently on the mouth.

It's soft and slow and exquisite, innocent and sweet, and as he kisses her back, Kate threads her fingers through his hair and breathes him in and lets herself sink into how blatantly obvious his love is.

"Kate?"

"Mmm."

"Kate -" His breath skirts over her lips and she just wants him to stop talking and kiss her forever. "I feel like I should have something profound to say right now."

She smiles into his mouth. She can hear what he's not letting himself say. It's three words long and he's whispered it to her before.

"Later, Castle." She steals another soft kiss and tucks her head into his shoulder. "Right now I just want to dance."


	45. 1x02, Nanny McDead 2

Another Nanny McDead chapter. This chapter goes out to KelliP, who graciously let me borrow this idea from her wonderful series _What If_. What if Beckett got hurt in that laundry room?

Thanks to my three doves Cartographical, Sparklemouse and chezchuckles for editing.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 45: 1x2, Nanny McDead<strong>

_Your inspiration might strike you sooner than you think_.

He slips into the laundry room – of course he does; did she really expect him to just stay outside? – and oh wow, a standoff. Beckett's in fine form, using that low voice, the calming one, and she's so good at her job (and hot) and he officially loves this new -

It happens so fast. So fast. Becca moves. The knifeblade flashes. And then there's a cry and Becca's on the floor, the knife dropped beside her, and as she falls and curls into an unresisting heap, Beckett - she's - she's shaking. She's not reacting. Not -

Half a dozen uniform cops come swarming, and immediately Becca's surrounded. Castle blinks stupidly. Beckett's on the floor, clutching at her thigh. It's bleeding. Blood is soaking through her clothes, spilling bright crimson into a pool around her leg. So much blood. Too much blood. Shit. How is there so much blood?

What just happened?

"Castle."

He swallows. Shit. Shit. "What?"

"Need - here." She sucks in a long breath. "Pressure."

It takes him a long second, too long, to realize what she's asking. He hurries to her side and presses his hands over the deep gash, trying to stop the flow of blood. Her face is dead white. Her breathing is slow. She's fading.

"Beckett. Beckett. Come on, you have to stay with me -" He chokes over the words because they're _stupid_, because words don't stop blood.

"It's - " her fingers slide over his and they're warm and wet and this isn't working - "- blood. Blood's clean."

She's barely conscious but she thinks he's worried about himself? Dammit. He didn't even think about gloves.

He's about to say something, anything, something stupid and inane like _You're going to be fine_ or _Hang in there_, but before he can get words out he's stumbling away, shoved back by impatient-looking uniforms. One of them takes his place and he can't see her anymore, but then Beckett's totally surrounded by people who know what they're doing, efficiently covering the wound, calling for an ambulance, staying calm and collected and Castle suddenly realizes his hands are shaking.

* * *

><p>At the hospital, his hands don't stop shaking.<p>

He didn't get to ride in the ambulance. It roared down the street before he could even form words. Ryan grabbed his sleeve and dragged him over to the car, where Esposito drove to the hospital, siren shrieking as they raced through the streets too fast. No one spoke.

So he sits in the waiting room with the guys, folding his hands, staring at the floor. He's written this scene a dozen times. When he writes it, it always ends happily. But he's stuck out here with no information, just replaying over and over in his mind the sight of her slowly getting paler and paler. Her blood is finally out from under his fingernails; he'd bolted straight into the men's room and scrubbed until his skin was raw.

"Castle." Ryan patted his shoulder awkwardly, obviously trying for comfort. "She's gonna be okay."

And for all the words in all the dictionaries, for all the polysyllabic glory of his mental thesaurus, Richard Castle is having trouble coming up with a single verbal response.

He just swallows hard at the lump in his throat and tries not to remember her blood coating his fingers, hot and thick, welling up like a fountain with no off switch.

* * *

><p>A wise, gentle doctor doesn't quietly join them and list off Beckett's perils and saying soothing things like <em>But she's a fighter<em> in appropriately hushed tones, with soft deep grave eyes and a determined smile.

The tired-looking middle-aged doctor with wispy strands of hair escaping her bun comes ambling out, examining a clipboard, tucking a cheap ballpoint pen into her pocket protector. Her _pocket protector_.

Castle clenches his teeth to hold in the strangled noise that's threatening to escape him - something between hysterical laughter because it's a damn _pocket protector_ and ugly choking sobs because Kate Beckett's blood is still damp on the cuffs of his shirt.

She tells them Beckett waived confidentiality to let them know her condition. "She's going to be fine. We stopped the bleed, stitched her up. The cuts on her hands are mostly superficial; it's the leg that had us worried."

"Her leg?" Castle holds his breath. That's where all that blood was coming from.

"Nicked a branch of the femoral artery. Lost a lot of blood." She surveys Castle, her eyes scanning him, fixing on his bloody shirt cuffs. "You were there? You applied pressure?" He nods mutely, and her weary eyes soften. "You did good. Might have saved her life, hon."

* * *

><p>When they finally go in, she's slumped on the edge of the hospital bed, her face dead white, frighteningly similar to the hospital gown wrapped around her thin frame.<p>

He's swamped with the overpowering urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

And that's not okay. Because he has no business thinking things like that, thinking about holding her, thinking about -

"Guys. Quit acting like I'm dying. I'm fine."

Esposito lets out a short laugh and even Ryan snorts a little. It eases the tension and Castle can feel the tight horrible knot in the center of his chest dissolve a bit. As pale and weak as she looks, she's still a smartass.

"Glad you're okay, Beckett." Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets. "Hate to have to break in someone new."

"I'm glad I could help,"she says dryly.

Esposito nods. "You want us to call your dad?"

She shakes her head, her face strained with exhaustion. "I'll do it."

Castle's suddenly hit with a wave of what it would feel like to hear the words _Sir, your daughter's been stabbed_ and his stomach turns.

* * *

><p>He wants to stay but they make him leave.<p>

He thinks he could stay, make sure she's alright, take her home or something, but that's not how real police work. Ryan and Esposito drag him back to the precinct and for hours, he's grilled on the day's events, over and over, reliving the blood welling up under his fingers until finally he just drops into his chair, numb. But her chair's empty and there's no reason to be here.

Ryan and Esposito walk by, talking quietly, and he turns. "Is she - is she here?"

Ryan shakes his head. "When the hospital let her go, the captain told her to take the day, rest up. She'll be back tomorrow."

Tomorrow's not soon enough. Tomorrow means he has to wait all night. Tomorrow is a long time to think about the thin, pale waif in the hospital gown who needs to call her dad and tell him she got stabbed today.

"Guys - can you tell me where she lives? Just so I can go see her?"

Ryan and Esposito exchange a look that very pointedly says _No_ and he hastens to explain. "Look - I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just - I feel bad. I want to check in. Make sure she's okay. See if she needs anything."

Ryan and Esposito share another long, wary look before Ryan reaches for his notebook, scribbles on it, and hands it to Castle. Her address. "Don't be a creep, okay?"

Esposito nods. "You try anything, we'll kill you."

"I figured."

* * *

><p>Castle half-expects her not to answer when he rings, but surprisingly, she unlocks the door and lets him inside. She even seems to accept it when he says he just came to see if she's okay.<p>

He tries not to stare at her too openly. She's still deathly pale, and there's a stiffness in her movements, a carefulness to the way she holds herself, avoids keeping weight on her injured leg. At least she's walking, though he thinks maybe she should sit down.

But she lets him follow her into her kitchen. He suddenly wishes he'd brought her something. Flowers. Why didn't he stop to get her flowers?

Is there a bouquet that says _Someone panicked and slashed a knife at you today and I did my best to stop the bleeding?_

He steals a long glance. Kate Beckett's apartment. It's nicer than he'd have expected. A lot nicer, actually. Spacious. Warm. Personal. Dozens of little details he wants to walk around and examine until he -

"Is there a reason you're here, Castle?" She folds her arms, leaning heavily on the cabinets behind her. Her palms are both bandaged, and he has a terrible memory of her trying to grab the knife before Becca can do more damage. She's breathing harder than he thinks she should be and it's making him anxious. "I'm not really up for entertaining right now. And how do you know where I live?"

"I asked Ryan and Esposito. They told me."

She presses her lips together but just nods. He wonders if Ryan and Esposito are going to get slapped for it. "Well, you can see now that I'm fine, Castle. Something else you need?"

"I'm sorry."

She freezes, startled. "What?"

"I'm sorry. You told me to stay out. I shouldn't have gone into the laundry room."

She wasn't expecting that, he can tell. She sort of deflates, her shoulders sinking, and she's doing it again, looking small and pale and tired and he just wants to take _care_ of her.

"No. You shouldn't have." She agrees quietly. "I already had an unstable variable in the room. You coming in just introduced one more variable. One more civilian I had to worry about."

"I know." He hates himself a little bit right now. "I'm sorry."

This quiet, strained version of Kate Beckett is making him horribly nervous. She needs to yell at him. Slap him. Do something. But she just shrugs. Turns, opens a cabinet like she's reaching for a glass.

She stretches to pull it out when she puts too much weight on her leg, or maybe twists it or something, because she lets out a cry and catches herself on her counter. She sucks in a long breath, leaning on her elbows, her face strained. He's at her side in an instant. "Are you okay? Beckett? Can I help?"

She lets out a long shuddery breath, and he has to clench his fists to keep from touching her because he doesn't think she wants him to. The only physical contact she's been comfortable with so far has been grabbing his nose. Words just keep spilling out of his mouth. "Beckett, please. What do you want me to do?"

She sucks in a shaky breath, her face still screwed up in pain. "Why don't you go ask your friend the mayor? You seem to take his opinion over mine."

"Beckett -"

"What am I supposed to say, Castle?" She looks up at him, her soft, pretty face so weary. "Am I supposed to be flattered? Charmed? You can't take 'no' for an answer, so you just stop listening?"

He freezes. No - not - "Beckett, no, it's not - it wasn't - "

"Then what was it?" she sighs. "Because I don't know why you can't just _listen_ when I tell you something."

"I'm - I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to take me seriously. If you can take anything seriously." She grits her teeth, and for a second he sees the Beckett he knows, prickly and irritated and gorgeous, in this tired woman. "Why couldn't you just back off?"

"I thought you wanted me here."

"Didn't I tell you to go away?"

"I thought -" oh, there's no way this won't make him sound like an asshole, but he blunders forward anyway because at this point he really thinks he might actually be one - "I thought you were attracted to me."

She stares at him. "You - "

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He feels like an idiot, and an asshole, and every possible kind of creep but come _on_, can it really be such a surprise? Doesn't she understand she's gorgeous? He had to try.

"What was your plan, Castle? Irritate me until I agree to date you?"

"Well - not _exactly_ - " he huffs - "it sounds stupid when you say it like that."

She lets out a soft laugh. He's not sure what to make of it. She's laughing at him? Is she just tired? Is she planning to hurt him? Is her medication kicking in?

She meets his eyes, and her gaze is so soft, so quiet, he catches his breath. She's never looked at him like this before.

"Castle. I don't hate you." She shrugs. "I don't like when you do stupid things. But I don't hate you."

He has no words. Because she's looking up at him, so much shorter in her bare feet, her short hair tousled, and she looks so _young_.

And she doesn't hate him.

"Okay. I'm glad you don't hate me."

"Castle?" Her eyes are getting hazy. He wonders just how tired she is.

"Hmm?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

She bites her lip and looks up at him from under her eyelashes, and his heart stumbles in his chest because she's _gorgeous_ when she does that. "You weren't wrong."

"About what?"

She doesn't answer, just smiles this little catlike smile, and his mind is racing, trying to remember what he said. He can keep a secret...he's sorry...he thought she was attrac-

Wait.

What?

"Beck-"

She cuts him off with the firm, insistent press of her mouth to his. Oh.

He can feel the scratch of her bandaged palms against his cheeks. He can't breathe.

She pulls away and he gapes at her.

"Just - so I'm clear - you _are_ attracted to me?"

She lets out a short laugh, her breath washing over his face, and his heart is pounding in his chest like he's some kind of teenager. Kate Beckett makes him an idiot. She turns him upside down.

He doesn't mind.

Castle decides since she's kissed him and he's still alive, he can steal a hug, right? He slips his arms around her waist and she lets him for a moment.

It's not quite right, though. She's warm and slender against him, but instead of soft curves settling into his body, she's all lines and angles, kind of bony, and this was supposed to be sweet and romantic but it's mostly kind of uncomfortable.

She lets out a long breath and sort of sags against him, and that's when he remembers that she's medicated right now. And lost a lot of blood.

"Castle -" she shifts against him and his arms tighten around her as he feels her sway a little unsteadily. "Can you help -"

"You want to lie down?"

She nods, her fingers tightening in his shirt, and screw it, he can tell she's wiped out and he wants to keep this physical contact thing going any possible way he can. So he slides one hand over her back and tucks his other arm under her knees, pulling her up into his arms easily.

Beckett lets out a startled noise, clutching at his shoulders for balance, but she doesn't fight him, just curls up against his chest. She does manage a faintly irritated glare, though now that she's kissed him, he finds it more adorable than anything else. "Castle. I can walk."

"I know." He just grins. "But this way I can show off my manly physique."

She eyes him suspiciously. "You're just trying to feel me up."

He scoffs at her. "Why _Beckett_, I would never."

She just rolls her eyes, but curls back against him as he shifts her carefully in his arms. "Alright. Which way is your bedroom?" She shoots him an arch look. "I mean. So you can sleep. Bed is better than couch. Not - I mean, your couch is nice, but -"

"Shhh." She nods down the hallway. "Second door."

Castle carries her into her bedroom. It's pretty, neat, with little personal touches like the rest of her place. He sets her down on her bed and tugs her comforter over her, soft deep purple. It suits her.

"You tucked me in," she mumbles. Her eyes are starting to close. But she's smiling.

"Want a bedtime story?"

"No thanks."

He sits gingerly on the edge of her bed, not sure what to do, not willing to move away. "Do you need something else? Water? Aspirin? A footrub?"

"Mmm."

She sighs and tugs him closer by his shirt, pulling his mouth down to hers for another long, deliberate kiss.

He steals one more kiss and smiles into her mouth. "Or that."

"Now go away. I'm tired."

"All right." He stands, heads for the door. Pauses. "Can I tell Ryan and Esposito you're my girlfriend now?"

"No."

"Can I tell them we kissed?"

"Absolutely not."

"Can I tell them I copped a feel?"

She yawns. "No." Her eyes are fluttering shut and she's so pretty he thinks he's going to have to kiss her again very soon.

"Fine." He watches her eyes close, her body already loosening with sleep. "Sweet dreams, Detective."


	46. 4x01, Rise

Many thanks to Sparklemouse, for providing the clarity I needed and helping me figure out where this one needed to go. She reminded me to look at the whole episode, not just the original scene. And Polly Lynn and Cartographicals, who also helped a lot. _Mahalo, mes enfants._

Set in the scene mid-episode, while Kate and Castle are at her apartment working on the case.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 46: 4x1, Rise<strong>

_I remember everything_.

Even tonight, safe in her apartment with Castle, Kate's still trapped in the split second of staring down the barrel of that gun today.

She's never frozen like that before. Never. Not even as a rookie uniform.

She's rattled and embarrassed - and it's stupid. So stupid. She never actually saw the sniper who shot her. Never knew what was happening until the crack split her ears. And the pain split her body and she hit the ground and then Castle said -

He said the thing she's still pretending she doesn't remember, the thing that hovers in her eyes like a caption, like subtitles every time he speaks now.

After a whole summer of picturing Castle, of trying to pick just the right words and over-analyzing every moment they've spent together since the very beginning, she really thought maybe it would be okay. She thought she was ready to see him.

But even back there, on the swings, she couldn't get the words right. She talked around it. Said everything except what she needed to say: _I want to be with you, Castle_. Their language has always been one of subtext and metaphor, of little things that mean bigger things, and it's painfully appropriate that her verbal communication with a writer has such a heavy veneer of synecdoche.

He's here now, in her apartment, and it should feel like last year, all those times he came here. But it's not. It was easy then. Now there are things standing between them, walls and bullets and death and lies and memories he doesn't know she has, and instead of laughing with him at the table or on the couch like they used to do she's pacing, uneasy. It's all off.

And the most wrong part of all - they're talking about a case (not just a case, _the_ case) and now he's the one saying _no_.

There's a weariness about him. It hurt to see at the bookstore. Standing in line, waiting to get to his table, she got to watch him, at this second booksigning of his she's attended. The first one, years ago, was so different. He was alive, alight, beaming, clever and charming. Flirting. Winking.

But this time, he was just so tired. He's older, yes. But that wasn't it. It wasn't age. It was joy. There was no joy in him.

And he's still tired. She can tell. He may be the official observer in this partnership but she's learned him just as thoroughly as he's learned her. Even after so many months, she still knows the lines around his mouth, the hold of his jaw.

She even knows the taste of his mouth, but that's not helping right now.

She tries to channel her inner, old-school Castle. The one who refuses to stop. Maybe she can restore some part of their balance. Fix it somehow. It might well be a lost cause. Whatever balance they ever had was permanently jettisoned with the words _Kate, I love you._

But she tries because she doesn't know what else to do.

Castle's right, of course. Chief Halstead's record is spotless. "Multiple citations for valor, commendations from the mayor - he's literally saved dozens of people from burning buildings. It's hard to believe this guy's dirty."

"Yeah, well, we've been surprised before." Her heart constricts a little. She's thinking about Roy.

And Castle's trying. He is. Are there intersections? Is Halstead connected to Roy? To McCallister?

There aren't and the gnawing in her stomach is getting worse. There's _nothing_. There's no hook on this guy, no clue. It isn't that they're missing something; there just isn't anything.

Castle stops short and she knows this isn't good. "What?"

"Given his record - what if he's not our guy? What if the fire was an accident?"

"It wasn't an accident. I know it wasn't an accident."

"You can't know that."

She can't bear it, can't breathe. It's all _wrong_.

"I _can_. Because if this was an accident, then I've got nowhere to start. If this was an accident, then I've got _nothing_." Her throat is tight. "The guy who shot me is gone. Dick Coonan, gone. Hal Lockwood, gone. Montgomery - gone. My mom - everybody's _gone_, Castle."

She's cracking into pieces because it's too _much_ and her chest hurts and it's happening again, the tightness lacing up her lungs, the splintered phantom pain that still lives in her skin.

She wipes her eyes furiously, her hands shaking. "I'm sorry." She can't get a low breath, the kind her physical therapist has been coaching her through. She's dizzy. Not centered.

"Kate -"

He shouldn't be here. She needs him gone because this is what kept happening all summer. She kept breaking. She's falling apart and she can't do this and she doesn't want him to see it happen.

And suddenly there's a fist tightening around her heart because she spent the miserable summer without him and why is she trying to get away from him again?

"Kate. It's okay. Just breathe."

He's worried about her. He doesn't see her like this. The closest to this broken he's ever seen her was the day she shot Dick Coonan in front of him and then couldn't save his life.

She's half-turned away, her face averted as she tries to pull herself together, and she feels him come to her, standing close. He touches her shoulder very gently, not intrusive, and his touch brings it all back in a rush, everything from that frenzied kiss in a dark alley to _I love you, Kate_.

"Kate." His voice is soft. Low. Gentle. "I'm not gone."

He's rubbing her back gently. It's no use anymore. She gives up. She crumples against him with a shuddering sob, choking, ugly noises escaping her because she _misses_ him. He's here pulling her into his arms but she still feels trapped. Disconnected. The lie she told him in spring is still clinging to her skin, slick and oily, and the only way to scrub it off is the one thing she can't do.

"You know I'm here," he murmurs into her hair. "I want to help, Kate. Let me be here."

It sounds like _I love you_ and it makes everything worse.

Castle must realize this is some kind of panic attack; he tugs her to the couch and sits her down, still holding her, almost shielding her body with his. She lets herself sink into him. He's warm; his shoulders are broad, and it's easy to just give in. He's so very tender, running his hand over her hair, whispering gentle things, and it's better and worse all at once.

Kate slowly trembles against him, breathing in the warmth of his cologne. It's the same cologne she smelled on him on that first case, when he asked for crime scene photos and she leaned in to try to intimidate him. She smelled it on him at that Russian poker club, as she ran her hands over his shoulders pretending to be his Ukrainian girlfriend. It swirled around her like a cloud that freezing night in the alley, the night they kissed and pretended it meant nothing. It's a warm, rich musk, but subtle. Understated. Always present. Never intrusive. Just - right.

She's overwhelmed by his warmth and his scent and the sensation of being _wrapped_ in him and even though it's not right, she can't help herself; he's right there, so very close, and it's only the slightest movement to turn her head and kiss him very gently on the lips.

She's reaching for him, trying to recapture that what she remembers, that rich flush of their first kiss, but - it's off. It's wrong. He's not kissing her. He's pushing her away.

She sits back and her heart sinks into the pit of her stomach. His face is dark.

He's - angry?

"Kate. Stop."

Her heart is thudding in her chest. "I - I thought - you - "

She catches herself before she can let slip _I thought you loved me_.

"What? You think I just want to distract you?"

"No, I - "

"I don't think this is a good idea, Beckett."

_Beckett_ hits her like a fist and she swallows hard, searching his eyes. "I didn't mean -"

"I should go."

He's standing up and walking away and it's all cold and when did it all go wrong? "Castle - Castle, wait. Please. _Please._"

"I told Alexis I'd meet her for dinner. I'm already running late."

Castle grabs his jacket and is shrugging it on, and she doesn't know what to say. What to do. His words are ringing in her ears again: _We never talk about it. We never talk about it_.

It's pressing against her chest, trapping her under the crushing weight of all the things they _never talk about_ and the cold sting of _Beckett_ (because _Kate_ belongs with _I love you_) and she can't help herself. It comes out before she can stop it.

"Rick, I missed you."

He stops.

She sees the ripple in his shoulders as he takes a deep breath, and she knows what he's doing. He's bracing himself. She's broken him. She's finally broken him.

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

His hands ball into fists and Kate swallows. He's a gentle man, but when he's angry, he's _angry_. "Why _not? _You ran away from _me._ You told me to leave and then you ignored me all summer. And now you come back and decide you want a partner again, and you tell me all about your 'walls' and how you can't be in any kind of real relationship but then it's okay to come on to me?"

"I - wasn't thinking, I didn't - "

"No, you really weren't. You didn't stop to think maybe _I_ had trouble with this too. That maybe it hurt _me_ when you pushed me away. And I won't let you use me. I'm not just a body to throw into your bed, Kate. I'm not Josh."

It hits her like a fist in the gut (_same way you hide in these nowhere relationships with men you don't love_) and it wouldn't hurt nearly so much if it weren't at least a little bit true. But maybe this is what she needed anyway. At least he's talking.

"I'm not trying to use you."

"Then what _is_ this? You want distance. But then you kiss me." He lets out a mirthless laugh. "Your signals are getting a little mixed, Beckett."

She's trying to sift through all the mixed signals crossing her own mind (_I was scared_ and _I didn't mean to hurt you_ and _I got _shot_, Castle_) when her mind flickers to another moment. The end of a summer. Footsteps coming to her desk, and then the only two words that could fix it.

"I'm sorry."

He freezes. He wasn't expecting that. She's not entirely certain she was, either. "What?"

Kate takes a breath, curling her hands around the edge of the couch behind her. "I'm sorry."

He just sort of - deflates. His shoulders slump, and she can almost see the angry energy draining from him. It just leaves him looking worn. Weary. Defeated. Her hands ache to smooth and touch and comfort, and she has to remind herself not to.

He doesn't say anything. She makes herself keep going. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Castle."

He just looks so _forlorn_, standing there with love spilling out of his eyes and hopelessness written on his face. "Kate. I _wanted_ to help you."

"I know," she murmurs, and for a long moment she thinks about it. About the miserable summer, the nights she woke up and turned her face into the pillow to muffle her crying. About how it might have been different if he'd been there to hear her. "I'm sorry."

Kate can see he's chewing on something else, something he clearly isn't sure how to phrase, and it might be _I said something to you when you got shot_ or maybe it's _you just kissed me and I pushed you away_ but neither is a comfortable topic sentence.

"Castle - what happened, just now - " she takes a deep breath, coming closer to him, step by step - "I wasn't trying to - to push you. I didn't mean -"

"I know." His voice is softer.

"I'm glad you're here," she says quietly. _And I know you love me_, her mind whispers. "If - Castle, if I could go back, change it -"

"I know."

Her throat is getting tight with all the things she wants to say, but he glances at his watch. "I really should go - Alexis is waiting. Are you okay?"

She nods, because there's actually no real answer to that question.

"If something happens, call me."

She doesn't want him to leave but she has to let him go. "I will."

He nods, and hesitates for just a moment before opening the door. She wants him to hug her.

It shuts behind him and Kate lets out a shuddering breath. Idiot. _Idiot._ She couldn't control herself.

But at least they talked.

It's still not right between them. But she thinks maybe it's a little less wrong.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, after hesitating a half-dozen times, she pulls out her phone, typing him a quick text message. <em>I needed the push.<em>

His reply arrives within a minute.

_I'm glad you let me in._


	47. 2x23, Overkill 2

Season 5 finale in 90 minutes...just a bit of a fic to pass the time.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 47: 2x23, Overkill<strong>

_It's like Sex and the City...only with boys_.

Tom stuffs his hands in his pockets. Well. Good close. Case wrapped. And the homicide cops are good people - he's already seen the first report drafts, and they went out of their way to credit him fairly for his input. He appreciates it.

He mostly appreciates Kate.

Kate's - wonderful. Beautiful. Clever. She's amazing, and it's surprising she's not already with someone.

With the case over, he's going to ask her to dinner. He's pretty certain that she's into him. He definitely enjoyed that little impromptu wrestling match they got into a few weeks ago. She was all hot against him, flush and sweaty and teasing, and he's not an idiot. He knows an opportunity when he sees one. Or pins one to the mat.

He turns the corner, and there she is, in the stairwell door. He's about to open his mouth when -

- oh.

_Oh._

She's smiling. She's leaning forward. And she's kissing Richard Castle.

Oh.

It's so not _her_. At least, not what he thought.

He stares, unable to move, watching helplessly as she kisses Castle again, soft and teasing, smiling into his mouth as he whispers something that makes her blush.

Tom lets out a long breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. Well. Time to leave.

Maybe not so much with the dinner invitation.

He sneaks a last glance back, as though maybe it's going to change, but this time, they're not kissing. They're almost kissing. Their foreheads are pressed together, close enough to share a breath, and as Castle catches her hand in his, she turns her face into his cheek in the soft, unconscious gesture of a pair of quiet lovers.

It's worse somehow.

Tom's stomach turns in an unpleasant flip. He turns away and starts down the empty hallway to the stairs before they can turn around and catch him.

He would have had a chance.

Too bad Richard Castle met her first.

* * *

><p>an: This scene still hurts to watch. I thought I'd make it hurt less.


	48. 4x13, An Embarrassment of Female Dogs

In a parallel universe, Kate took the dog home first.

Thanks to Sandiane Carter for editing!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 48: 4x13, An Embarrassment of Bitches<strong>

_This guy is a snuggler_.

His door buzzes, and he opens it to find Royal sitting, looking up at him with alert ears, and Kate, sweaty and flushed.

Well. Not an unpleasant sight.

"Hi," she manages, breathing hard. He has to remind himself not to make a suggestive comment.

"Hi. You okay?" Castle's not the most athletic man, but even he doesn't puff that hard on the stairs. And Kate Beckett can run circles around him in stilettos.

"I took him for a run," she shrugs, wiping her forehead. "It's nice out."

Royal pads over to Castle, and he scratches behind the dog's ears. "Well, good. You're all primed and hungry for dinner."

"Dinner? No, Castle, I'm just here to drop off the dog."

"No, you have to stay for dinner."

"_No._"

"But I set a place for you." He even pulled out the nice plates, the ones with a tasteful pattern of earth tones around the edges.

"Castle. I just ran. I smell. I'm sweaty. I need to clean up."

"That's fine. Go shower. I'll have dinner ready when you're done."

She looks like she's trying to find a way to semi-graciously decline, so Castle fixes her with his most innocent face. Four years; he's learning how to wear her down. And normally it has a rather low success rate with her, but then Royal trots back over to her and licks her hand with an intensely adorable look. Castle can actually _see_ the resolve drain from her, tension releasing in her shoulders, her whole posture changing as she runs a gentle hand over the dog's back. Puppy eyes. _Real_ puppy eyes_._ They're unstoppable. Even Kate Beckett doesn't stand a chance, and she knows it.

"_Fine_. I'll stay."

"_Thank _you." He shoots her a giant smile that makes her roll her eyes. "You can use my bathroom. Towels and soap and everything are in there. And there's laundry folded on my bed, just grab anything that fits."

She disappears through his office. He concentrates on cooking. Not on the thought of the woman he loves naked in his shower. Not on the way the water is sluicing over her bare skin. And definitely not on the fact that she has to stand there naked in his bedroom _again_ while she decides which of his clothes she's going to drape over her smooth bare skin, warm and glowing from the shower, beads of water streaming between –

_Dammit_.

* * *

><p>He's tossing salad when he hears his door open and footsteps, and he looks up to find her padding in, barefoot, in his long-sleeved Gryffindor t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Both are far too big; even with the sleeves rolled up and the pants tied tight around her waist, she's swimming in them, her damp hair pulled back messily.<p>

She's gorgeous.

Seeing him watching her, she folds her arms, a smile playing over her lips. "Figures you'd have a Harry Potter shirt."

He grins. It looks amazing on her. "I've always thought I might actually be more of a Ravenclaw, to be honest. You're more of a Gryffindor than I am."

"Good to know."

"It looks good on you."

She arches an eyebrow, shooting him a look that says _I know you're thinking about me naked and I want to punish you for it_. Well. He _thinks_ that's what it says. "Castle. You said this was dinner, not a thin excuse to drag me into your home and force me into your nerdy clothes."

"Right. Yes. Just about done here."

As Royal nudges his feet helpfully, Castle busies himself serving food. She tries to help but he won't let her, forcing a wineglass into her hands and telling her, in no uncertain terms, to sit and let him wait on her. And he takes it as a tremendously good omen that she only _slightly_ rolls her eyes, scratches Royal's ears and sips her wine.

He leans over her to set a dish down, and pauses just long enough to take a breath. The scent of his shampoo mixed with _her_ wafts over him and he almost drops the fork he's holding because _wow_.

And in his clothes, hair damp from his shower, smelling like his soap, she belongs here.

When he stoops to set Royal's dish on the floor, she cranes her neck. "You're giving him steak?"

She sounds disbelieving. He doesn't understand the problem. "Why not? It's what we're having."

"He's a dog."

"_Beckett_." He covers the dog's ears. "He's _right here_. You're going to hurt his feelings."

"Oh, for crying out _loud_," she mutters into her wineglass.

* * *

><p>After dinner, she helps him clear the table. She's reaching for a dish, leaning over a chair, when suddenly she stops. She winces. His blood pressure instantly goes up. "Something wrong?"<p>

She frowns, running her fingers over her shoulder. "I'm not used to running with a dog. He tugged a little too hard. Kind of wrenched my shoulder. It's just sore."

"Here." Without thinking, he reaches, sets his hand on her shoulder.

"Castle?" She turns around, her eyes wide with alarm, and oh, that's right. They don't do this, do they?

"You forget I grew up with an actress. I've seen plenty of dance injuries. This can't be too different."

She still has that skittish look, like she's about to bolt. Which he finds amusing, seeing as Royal is calmly curled up on the floor.

"Relax, Kate. Let me help."

She doesn't pull away, so he tentatively presses his fingers into her shoulder, feeling the tight muscle beneath the thin fabric of the shirt she's wearing. She lets out a long hiss. He immediately relaxes his touch. "Sorry."

"'Sokay."

"I can feel a knot here - oh, and here, and - well, your entire shoulder is made of knots, really." He tests the muscle, taut and toned under his fingers, but even through the shirt he can feel the tight spots speckled under her skin.

"Some of us have jobs, not weekly spa appointments," she retorts, but there's air in her voice, the edge in it gone. She's slowly relaxing into his touch. He's spent four long years learning the levels of tension in Kate Beckett, from _I need a better lead on this case_ to _Castle, I am going to shoot you between the eyes if you don't shut up_ (though that last one was more common during their earliest cases), and this isn't - it's not -

Castle holds his breath but she still doesn't move away from his touch. The delicate column of her neck is right there, exquisite, pale, and he wants so badly to kiss her. He's having trouble coming up with reasons he shouldn't.

He's still not sure what to do when suddenly she's kissing him.

_Oh_.

Her arms curl around his neck and she sort of sinks into him, the long line of her body in his too-big, dorky clothes, and then her tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and -

_squeak squeak_

Kate jerks away from him, looking down in dazed embarrassment to discover Royal, blithely proffering her a squeaky toy in his mouth. Damn it.

"Royal. You're killing me here," Castle mumbles, but Kate's laughing, scratching the dog's ears.

"What is that?"

"Uh. It's Mr. Squeaky."

Her lips twitch upwards in a little smile, and as adorable as she always is when she's teasing him, right now he's just staring at her mouth because he absolutely needs to kiss it again.

But she's kneeling down to pet the dog, who licks her face happily as she takes Mr. Squeaky and tosses it across the room. Royal yips and scrambles to chase it.

She stands and meets his eyes again, and there's a long moment, a lull, and he's filled with the strangest, lightest sense of hope. Because she's blushing, but she's not looking away.

God, he's in love with her.

He slips his arm around her waist and tugs her into him again, taking a long breath of the scent of her hair before whispering into her ear. "I'm not going to kiss you."

She tenses. "What?"

"The dog licked you."

She swats him in the chest for that, stepping back with a mock-glare. "Really?"

"I'm anti-germ, Kate. I hold to my principles. It's why you l- like me."

He almost said the wrong word there, the one he never says aloud, and he can see that she heard it. But she just bites her lip and shrugs. "Fine. I can shower again."

"Shower? I mean. It's just on your face, right - "

She shuts him up with the flat of her hand over his mouth.

"And I could use some help this time, Castle."


	49. 2x14, The Third Man 2

This is almost entirely Polly Lynn's fault.

Edits by my shiny, awesome Sparklemouse.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 49: 2x14, The Third Man<strong>

_Though claiming to be single…_

"Detective Beckett is _not_ going to love this."

His heart pounds in his chest. Alexis is right. Beckett is really, really not going to love it.

Because –

But they don't ever talk about it. Ever.

It never happened.

* * *

><p>"So are you – the detective girlfriend?"<p>

Kate freezes. She feels Castle go totally still beside her, and she has this horrible, sinking feeling. No. No way. No one knows. About that thing that didn't happen.

How did this even –

* * *

><p>When she sees the article, she realizes the real reason he's been so squirrelly today.<p>

If he said one word -

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing! Why would I do that? Do you have any idea what this does to my reputation?"

"_Your_ reputation? What about _my_ reputation?" She is going to kill him. She's going to go to jail because she's going to murder him right here.

"Beckett – it's not so b-"

"Don't. Just don't."

Her head is spinning. _Rumored to be romantically involved_. It's not a direct statement. But it's _there._

It was two weeks ago and she can't stop thinking about it.

"We hooked up, Kate."

She freezes.

"Castle – "

"You can't pretend it never happened. We got drunk and we slept together. I'm sick of ignoring it."

She swallows hard. He's staring at her with those eyes, those big blue eyes of his, and she _hates_ him because he looks so delicious in that striped blazer. And even though she's worked so hard to forget it, to forget the way he traced her naked skin with his clever tongue, she takes one look at him and it all comes rushing back. The heady shiver as he slipped her clothes off. The weight of his body pressing her into the mattress.

It was –

"The article's just speculation. They don't know." He pauses for a second. "No one knows."

"Good."

She says it reflexively, not thinking, and she feels a pang as she sees how his face crumples. "Castle – I didn't mean –"

"This isn't about the newspaper."

"Castle –"

"Why are you so determined to deny it, Kate?" His mouth twitches in a mirthless smile. "Was it so terrible?"

"No."

The word slips out before she can stop it. It wasn't terrible. It was amazing. It was stupid, drunk sex and it was earth-shattering and toe-curling and left her sated and glowing and sore in all the right places.

But she woke up in his bed at four, sober and panicked, and she managed to slip out from his arms without waking him. She went straight back to her apartment and showered, trying to wash it all off, but the hot water just made the marks on her thighs darker, and she spent her day off ignoring her phone.

And now she's staring into his pleading eyes thinking _It was a mistake, _but there's a voice in the back of her head whispering _No, the mistake was how you reacted to it_.

"Castle." She takes a deep breath, curling her fingers around the table's edge. "It – wasn't – I'm sorry we haven't really – talked."

They didn't talk much that night, either. Not after they hit that slender, fragile line between the fourth glass of red wine in his empty loft and the look he gave her, the smoldering, hungry look that made her shiver.

She's not entirely sure who actually made the first move, but by the time they made it off the couch, his tongue was in her mouth and her legs were wrapped around his waist. She'd kicked her shoes off after her second glass, so she dug her heels into his backside, grinding into him frantically as he stumbled into his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them.

"We're talking now," he offers quietly.

"Yeah."

It goes silent, because she's relatively sure he's waiting for her to go first but she can't physically force out a sentence that starts with _That night we slept together._

But the silence stretches on, long and deafening and agonizing and all she can think about is how _loud_ she was that night, and finally Kate sucks in a breath and says something, anything, just to fill the void. "I'm sorry I ran out that morning."

He gives her a sheepish smile, and she exhales shakily when he answers.

"I missed you when I woke up."

His voice is so gentle, so soft and warm and intimate, it floods her body with awareness and heat. Two weeks, two weeks of pretending it didn't happen, and now all it takes is his bedroom voice and she's right back there, tangled in his sheets, gasping and begging under him while he whispers things he can't possibly mean.

She's leaning on the table between them, gripping the edge of it, her solid, tangible link to normalcy. But her veins are coursing with adrenaline. And it's strangely freeing to finally admit (if only privately) that she has, in fact, had sex with Richard Castle.

"Kate." He swallows, leaning towards her. "I know it wasn't - expected. And maybe it wasn't the world's best timing."

It wasn't. It was way, way too soon. She was still reeling from the shock of finding her mother's killer, only to lose him again. And Castle was _safe_. Turns out, he was too safe. And kind. And warm. And gentle and attractive and just _perfect_.

"I don't think -" she starts, but stops herself. "Castle. I'm not good at this."

"Would you go to dinner with me?"

She can't do that. She can't. She won't.

"Beckett. Kate. It's just food."

She can't.

* * *

><p>She tells herself it's mid-case, she's not going to do anything stupid like sleep with him (again). But she still finds herself slipping into a clingy little red dress that's easy to get out of – not that that's at all what she's going for – and sliding on a strappy pair of heels that definitely say something dirty before hurrying out to meet him at Drago.<p>

Dinner doesn't go well.

The food is tiny and too fancy. They're both trying too hard. The wine's great, but she barely tastes it because she keeps ducking out to take calls from Ryan and Esposito. On top of all that, she keeps getting the powerful itch to pull off that stupid red tie of his and tie him to her bed and just shut him _up._

After her phone cuts out, she sighs and goes back to their table. "Castle, sorry to cut this short, but I can't get any reception."

He's gracious about it, stepping out with her, pushing in their chairs and heading to speak with the host. His hand lingers briefly on the small of her back, and she takes in a long breath because she's spent all evening wanting to rip that jacket right off him.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom before we go," she tells him as he thanks the host.

"That's fine."

He looks like he's just going to stay, and she grits her teeth, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Come _with_ me, you idiot."

* * *

><p>She's half-sure the host sees them leave the bathroom together. He seems to be smirking. Of course, Castle's not the most subtle man in the world. His clothes are fairly tidy, but his face is flushed and the dazed, sated expression in his eyes announces pretty clearly that he just got a bl -<p>

She bites her lip. _She_ was careful. She wiped her mouth. And brushed off her knees.

Neither one of them speaks until they're in the taxi, heading towards the pet store.

"Beckett." He clears his throat. "You don't - you don't think the guys could tell -"

"No."

It wasn't her fault, or his, that Ryan and Esposito called right as Castle got his hand up her skirt. It was maybe his fault that he spent the entire phone call making her squirm. With just two fingers. He had to keep finishing her sentences while she bit back _noises_ and rolled her hips against him.

They managed to stay quiet. Until the phone call ended. Then she was...sort of quiet. And then he really wasn't quiet at all.

In retrospect, he seemed to enjoy the 'punishment' far too much.

The cab driver's ignoring them, but she leans over to whisper in his ear anyway. "Do _not_ expect that to happen during future phone calls."

He twitches his eyebrow up at her, and _fuck_, even just that makes her seriously want to forget everything for just a few hours and drag him into her bed and just _ride_.

"Fine. Phone conversations will be strictly business."

"Yes."

He grins. And before she can stop him, he dives in for a kiss, brief and hot and drugging, his tongue tracing her lips teasingly.

He sits back, looking smug.

"And just for the record – I _really_ like your tattoo."


	50. 3x7, Almost Famous

Remember that one time Beckett wore that little lacy black thing and they went to the strip club?

Edits by ma bijou, Sandiane Carter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 50: 3x7, Almost Famous<strong>

_She's very adventurous. You have no idea_.

He's not remotely prepared for the little black lace number she walks out of her bedroom wearing.

The sort of cardigan-thing she's draped over what's essentially a short, lacy black nightgown does precisely nothing. If anything it's making the situation worse. Like she's making this halfhearted effort to hide herself, to say _look but don't touch_. But he likes touching things. And right now he's thinking so many wrong, wrong things about putting his hands on that dress. And under that dress. And -

_Stop_.

He follows her out the door and away from the bedroom.

* * *

><p>He gets through the strip club because he can't take it seriously. He absolutely cannot take it seriously when oily orange men make duck faces at Beckett. He knows she's looking at them, but they're not her type. Her type is tall, dark and handsome. He's seen the pattern.<p>

He doesn't like thinking about that.

* * *

><p>After the nightmare of a strip club that didn't involve any of Kate's clothing coming off, they're finally back in familiar territory. The precinct. Safety.<p>

At first, anyway.

She's leaning over the computer to look at something Ryan's pointing at, and every single man (and plenty of women) on the floor are openly staring at her chest. Well - okay, not true. Some are staring at her ass. Even that stupid long sweater can't hide it.

He tells _himself_ to stop staring, but that's been a failed goal all night.

She stands up again (relief) and crosses to her own desk. But to his chagrin, she doesn't sit; she leans over her desk, riffling through some papers, and he's getting that view again. Which is fine, except everyone's getting that view again.

It really does look like lingerie, and the unwelcome, unwanted thought crosses his mind that maybe she wears it for Josh. Maybe she lets Josh take it off her.

He wants to cover her with his jacket.

"Beckett. Beckett." He has to stop himself from touching her because that would really just make it worse.

She turns her head and yep, she's irritated. "What?"

"You - you're - it's kind of _showing_ things."

She stares at him like he's speaking Czech. "What?"

"They're all staring at you," he hisses.

She huffs, glancing around. "Castle. Stop it. It's just a dress."

He's irrationally angry at her, furious at her for wearing this lingerie, because _dammit_ Beckett, who even wears things like this in public?

* * *

><p>She grumbles something about giving him a ride home. He figures it'll be fine.<p>

She refuses to talk to him in the elevator, or across the lobby. By the time they start crossing the garage floor, he's fed up with this.

"Beckett." She doesn't turn around. His fists clench. _ "Kate._"

"_What?_"

She's livid, glaring at him, her eyes fiery, and he can't -

Suddenly her tongue is in his mouth and her hands are in his hair and they're stumbling back until she's pressed against her car, sandwiched between the door and his body, the soft, flush warmth of her breasts crushed against his chest.

It's wrong. It's so wrong. But she feels so _good_, all soft and silk and heat and her body _fits_ against his and she lets out a little whimper that gets trapped in his mouth. She's not wearing a bra. And he knows that because he can feel her nipples, puckered tight against his chest through the thin material of her little nightgown, oh _shit_, and he wants her in his bed. He wants this indecent little dress on his floor and he wants her and she wants _him_. She's clawing his jacket and he's pulling her sweater off and he's about two seconds away from pulling her into the backseat of the car and -

"What the _hell?" _

Ryan.

Ryan's here. He just saw that. And he looks furious.

Beckett takes in a breath, instinctively pushing him away, folding her arms to hide herself. "Ryan - "

"I don't want to know."

She won't look up. Ryan's glaring death at Castle. A few uniforms come into the garage, talking loudly, and they get all the way into their cruiser before Ryan speaks again.

"I'll take you home, Castle. Get in the car."

His tone allows for no argument. With one last, lingering look at Kate, Castle follows Ryan to his car.

"Jenny? Hi, sweetheart. I'm leaving now. I'm gonna give Castle a ride home, so I'll be back soon, okay? Okay. Yeah. Love you too."

Castle slides into the passenger seat silently. Ryan gets in, but instead of turning the car on, he shoots Castle a glare.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

Castle just stares out the window. He has no answer.

Ryan takes a breath. "Look. Everyone knows you're into her. You always have been. And if you want to be a dick to the woman you're dating, go ahead. But don't force Beckett to cheat on someone just because you can't get your head out of your ass."

Castle bites back his retort that she wasn't pushing him away.

She kissed him back.

Somehow, that just makes it worse.

* * *

><p>At home that night, Castle lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. Stupid. <em>Stupid<em>.

He stares at his phone. He shouldn't. He can't. He won't. If he's going to call someone, he should call his girlfriend.

He doesn't call anyone.

Because they don't talk about things.


	51. 2x5, When The Bough Breaks

Edited by the gracious AnnieXMuller and Polly Lynn.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 51: 2x5, When The Bough Breaks <strong>

_Oh, come on. What man has ever turned you away?_

The warmth of seeing a broken little family start healing is buzzing through her veins as Kate silently descends the staircase, her faithful partner at her side.

That thought is suddenly crossed with the words _our last case together_.

And it's - complicated. The man beside her has been a presence in her life for so many years - more than he knows - and now she's trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he's learned all he wants from her. He's found a shiny new British toy.

The memory springs up, unbidden - Castle with those little nesting dolls, delighted, exclaiming _how many can possibly be in here?_ while she pretended she didn't think it was adorable.

He may be irritating sometimes, but -

Well.

She likes having him around. And she's going to miss him.

"Thank you, Castle." He looks at her quizzically, and she decides - well, it's the last time they're working together; she may as well tell the truth. "I, uh - I never would've been able to solve this case without your help."

His whole face lights up, and she can't help the rush of warmth that spills through her veins. It's like he's been waiting, all this time, just for her to say that he's helpful.

The silence goes on too long and she panics a little. "Well, uh. Good luck on your new book. I know that you'll do it proud."

"Thanks." He still looks stunned. He's not used to her telling him things like _thank you_ and _I respect you_, she realizes, and that hurts a little.

He keeps looking into her eyes, mesmerizing, and for a moment she thinks he's going to hug her. And she - oh, she wants -

He shakes her hand, but it's more than a handshake. His hand is warm, clasping hers firmly, and she can't remember a simple handshake that's said so much.

"You take care of yourself." His eyes are so full she can't look away, and he's still holding her hand. He hesitates, but keeps going. "And -"

But he stops. She catches her breath. "What?"

"I almost kissed you."

She freezes.

Her mouth falls open, and he's staring at her, looking as shocked as she feels.

"What?"

His mouth opens and shuts, his face covered in confusion, before he finally squares his shoulders and fixes his gaze on her, that brave little boy look in his eyes that she tells herself she doesn't love.

"At the party." His mouth turns up in a soft smile. "You looked - just - stunning. And for a second there, I really - thought - "

She manages to get her voice working. "Thought what?"

"That you wanted me." She blinks, and he fumbles. "To kiss you, I mean." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and it's as though he's lost all that bravado. It's just him. "I was going to ask if you wanted to skip out that night, go get drinks. I almost did. But I - got cold feet. So I talked about the case."

"And we argued."

"As usual."

He grins at her, his eyes crinkling, and she can't stop smiling back at him.

"I was - wondering what you were going to say."

"So, Beckett." He pauses. "Kate. You want to go out for drinks? After we're done for the day?"

His eyes are warm. She can hear what he means. _I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet._ She she's not ready for that, either.

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>It's just after ten when he walks her back to her apartment. Kate's still laughing at some ridiculous, convoluted story about a book-signing he attended while not wearing pants.<p>

"I probably don't want to know this, but is it at all related to the time you stole the police horse?"

"Nope. Completely separate occasion."

He watches as she pulls out her key, still rolling her eyes as she does. "I'll try to forget that."

"So - you want to do this again?"

She worries her lower lip between her teeth, watching, amused, as his eyes fixate on her mouth. "Yeah."

She hesitates, then leans forward, kissing him very lightly on the lips. When she pulls away, he's staring at her, slack-jawed.

"Good night, Castle."

* * *

><p><em>a week later<em>

It's far, far too early when she wakes up to the sound of a phone ringing. No. She's not on call. Kate groans, rolls over.

But Castle's voice rumbles under the edges of her consciousness, dragging her awake without her permission.

"Are you kidding? For that kind of money, I'll write a dozen Nikki Heats."

She buries her face in the pillow and reaches towards him blindly, poking him in the side. He snags her hand, twining his fingers through hers, murmuring a little softer.

He hangs up quickly and she sighs, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. "What's going on?"

He shakes his head, incredulous. "That was Black Pawn. They made a huge counteroffer. A seriously huge counteroffer. I'm not taking the Bond offer."

"You - what?"

"I'm staying. Kate." He runs his thumb over the back of her hand. "You're going to be getting a phone call later today. I think Montgomery's going to tell you you're still stuck with me."

"Mmmmm." She scrapes her nails lightly over his bare stomach, heat flaring in her veins as he catches his breath, his abs tightening under her touch. "Am I, now?"

He grins at her, dropping a brief, light kiss on her mouth.

"You're like my own personal Bond girl. You - _mmmph_"

She smothers that with a long, hard kiss, rolling him onto his back.

"Do not _ever_ call me that."


	52. 4x05, Eye Of The Beholder 2

Another post-ep for "Eye of the Beholder." Couldn't resist.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 52: 4x5, Eye of the Beholder 2<strong>

_The least the NYPD can do is buy you a burger._

Kate's halfway through her burger when she remembers his words from two years ago.

_You wanna bite me? You buy me dinner_.

Her face gets hot and she hides it behind her milkshake. He doesn't notice; he's busily trying to slurp up the very last dregs of his own shake, entirely too focused, a swipe of ketchup on his cheek, and it's utterly adorable.

It's been a long time since she and Castle did this – just went out for food, no case between them, just to spend time together. They did last year. It was different then. There was a different air, less intense, and even though last year it felt easier, it's better now.

Of course, last year, they were both dating other people.

She's not blind. Not deaf. And not stupid. She can see it in his eyes every day; even if she hadn't heard him whisper _I love you, Kate_, it's written all over his face these days, in the warmth of his eyes, in every word from _Good morning_ to _I'll see you tomorrow._

Her chest still gets tight when she thinks about him kissing Serena. Rationally, she knows he wasn't trying to pursue the gorgeous thief. She knows. Kissing is – well. It seems to be his go-to method for diversion. She knows from experience.

He's good at it.

But this is better. The man across from her, triumphantly slurping down a microscopic trace of chocolate and tucking fries against his teeth to make walrus tusks, makes no sense with some smooth international art thief. He never belonged with her.

_He belongs with me_.

Kate bites her lip, ducking her head as she smiles at her plate.

"What?"

Castle's paused with his burger halfway to his mouth, watching her curiously.

She hesitates.

"You, uh - you have ketchup on your face."

* * *

><p>They walk back to the precinct together; her car's in the garage, and he seems loathe to leave her just yet. It's still warm for fall, breezy and mild. The kind of evening when lovers should be strolling through parks. Lovers with bright eyes and soft smiles and normal lives.<p>

"Thanks for dinner."

Kate glances at Castle, who's smiling at her. His whole posture seems more relaxed. "Anytime."

"I might take you up on that." He's got that brave little boy look on his face, the way he looks when he hands her coffee. The way he looked when he gave her the _Temptation Lane_ photo.

She's swamped with the sudden urge to wrap her arms around him and not let go.

So she shyly, tentatively slips her hand in his. He flinches in surprise for a moment – this is new – but before she can pull back, pretend it was an accident, he twines his fingers through hers.

They finish the walk back to the precinct in gentle silence. Her heart is full, bursting, pressing up against her chest and drowning out the dull phantom ache that's been following her since a bullet tore her open. His hand is warm.

They stop outside the precinct. She's not ready to let go of his hand just yet; she tugs at him lightly, pulling him back to face her. "You want a ride home?"

He pauses. "No, I think I'll walk. It's a nice night."

Their hands separate, and she lets out a breath. Kate's half-ready to leave, but decides to do one last brave thing.

She stretches on her toes, steadying herself with a hand on his arm, and kisses the corner of his mouth, just shy of his cheek.

When she steps back, Castle's watching her with stunned eyes, his face so full of love and delight that she can't help but smile back at him.

_You wanna bite me? You buy me dinner._

She'll save that for at least the second date.


	53. 4x01, Rise 2

Another take on this episode - what if she was telling the truth? What if she really didn't remember?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 53: 4x1, Rise<strong>

_I don't remember much of anything_.

Her whole body is just limp, heavy, her arms like sandbags at her sides. Her hair is greasy and her face is oily and if she could just move, she would shower for _days_.

Kate's always loved her dad's cabin, but now her feelings are mixed. The drive up to the cabin sapped the energy she had. Now she's on the big cushy old sofa, watching impatiently as her dad carries her suitcase in. "Dad, you don't have to -"

"Shh. Katie. Let me get it."

She sighs, scrubbing her face with one hand. "I hate this, Dad."

He pauses, watching her thoughtfully, and then he surprises her. He sets the suitcase down and comes to sit with her on the sofa.

"Katie." He fixes her with the calm gaze, the one she knows so well. "I know it's frustrating. I know you're tired, and sore, and I _know _you want to be back to yourself. But just think how far you've come."

"I know. I just -"

"Now, I want you to listen." There's a sharp directness in his voice, something she wasn't expecting. "You cheated _death_, Katie. You got shot in front of me. I had to watch my only child dying." His eyes are glittering. "So don't you for one _second_ forget how well you've recovered. I don't want you giving up."

Kate lets out a shaky breath. Her eyes are stinging. Her dad wraps his arms around her, in what seems like the thousandth hug since the moment she woke up in the hospital feeling like an anvil was crushing her chest.

* * *

><p>That evening, she lies down in her old bed, staring out the window at the rich, colorful glow of the sunset, and she wants to sleep but she's still too tense.<p>

She remembers bits of things, strange details like the cool grass tickling her face, the flowers at the plot next to Roy's. A family had walked past right before the service started, two parents with a little boy who couldn't have been more than five.

She never saw the shooter.

The rest of it is a blur and she doesn't mind the haze. What she does remember is pain. Shooting, burning, ripping pain. Shouting.

Voices, saying words, but she's not sure what was real and what her mind conjured up out of nothing.

* * *

><p>Kate surprises herself; she's hungry the next morning, a healthy feeling, better than she's felt in a while.<p>

As her father cracks eggs for omelets, she sips at her orange juice. She knows he doesn't want to relive that moment.

But she needs to know.

"Dad." She swallows. "That - day - "

He pauses, takes a deep breath, but keeps it together. "Yes?"

"Castle - he tried to knock me out of the way. I remember that."

"That's right."

"And - he stayed there?"

"He did." Her dad clears his throat. "Stayed with you till the paramedics came."

"Dad." Her fists knot in her lap. "Did you hear him say anything?"

"Say anything?" He frowns quizzically. "What do you mean? While - you were there?" She nods. "I don't think so. Did he say something?"

Kate takes a deep breath. "I don't know. I thought - maybe. I'm not sure if I heard it or not."

"Heard what?"

She looks down at her glass, her face getting warm.

"I don't know."

Something important.

Scary as a bullet, but in a different way.

* * *

><p>The next day, she waits till she knows Lanie's off work to call her best friend.<p>

"Kate Beckett. Girl. I'm so glad to hear from you. How's the cabin?"

"Too quiet."

Lanie laughs. "Course it is, city girl. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Still sore, but it's not so bad."

"Glad to hear it. I _told_ you not to check out of the hospital early, though."

"I know, I know. You're always right."

"Damn straight." Lanie's got a note of something in her voice. Of course. _She knows me too well_. "Kate, are you really okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something's bothering you. I can hear it in your voice. Go ahead, spill."

Kate sighs. Lanie's tenacious. And she's not going to stop until Kate comes clean.

"It's about - the day I got shot."

"Oh." Lanie pauses, which isn't like her. "You want to talk about it?"

"It's not - it was right after, when Castle was there, when I was on the ground." Kate takes a long breath. "Lanie. I think - I _think_ I heard -"

She stops. No. it's stupid to even say.

"What is it, Kate?" Lanie's voice is gentle. She knows this is something deep. Something important.

"He said he loved me."

There's a long pause.

"Oh, Kate."

"But I don't _know_. It's hazy. I don't know if he said it or I just imagined it. And I can't _say_ anything, and I just -"

"Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"Not to make light of this, sweetie, but his being in love with you is basically the worst-kept secret ever."

"Lanie -"

"Hon, okay. I don't know. I didn't hear if he said anything. I wish I could help you. But Kate? There's only one person in the world who can answer your question."

"I know."

And he's giving her time. Because she said she wanted it.

* * *

><p>She can't sleep.<p>

It's warmer than usual, more humid this evening, and Kate rolls over a dozen times, stares out the window, tries to read, and finally just picks up her phone.

Castle's phone only rings once.

"Hello?"

She can tell she didn't wake him up, but she's at a loss for what exactly to say, so she goes with, "Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't." He doesn't offer any other explanation. She hears background noise - a chime she knows is his laptop. Of course. He was writing. "I'm glad you called."

"How's the city?" _Do you miss me?_

"Hot. Loud. Normal." He lets out a noise that sounds like a chuckle. "Ryan and Espo are sick of me. They invented a new game called 'Run Away From Castle.'"

"I'm sure that's not true."

"No, they actually explained it to me. Basically every time I try to bother them, they -"

"- run away?"

"How'd you guess?"

Kate laughs. Something in her chest loosens. Not the physical pain. Some phantom ache she hadn't even realized she'd been holding onto since he walked out of her hospital room.

"Where are you, anyway?"

"My dad's cabin. Upstate."

"A cabin? Like a log one? Are there wolves? Are you wearing your hair in pigtails like Laura Ingalls?"

"It sounds like you're too excited about this."

"Is that a yes on the pigtails?"

It feels so good to _laugh_. Castle saying ridiculous things, just being _Castle_. She's missed it so much, the way his eyes sparkle, the way his whole face just opens up when he smiles because she's pretending she doesn't find him adorable.

She doesn't want him to worry. So she tells him about the cabin, the forest, the little pond she's planning to hike to once she's strong enough. "I wish I wasn't so cooped up. I'm going stir crazy here."

"At least it sounds pretty."

_It's lonely._

Kate lets out a breath.

"It is. I'm just tired. You could - " she pauses - "you know, you could come out here. If you wanted to."

There's a beat, a moment of breath, and she wonders if he's trying to politely decline. Maybe that was too much. Too soon.

"You mean it?"

"Yeah."

It feels like forever, but then he speaks again.

"I'd like that."

* * *

><p>To his credit, her dad seems perfectly nonplussed when she tells him Castle's coming out to the cabin. He just smiles, says it'll be nice to see Rick again, and heads out to get more groceries.<p>

* * *

><p>She's sitting on the little front porch, a worn copy of <em>Persuasion<em> lying open and forgotten on her lap, when finally she sees the little silver car winding up the narrow, rocky road.

Castle climbs out of the driver's side and she can't stop the smile from crossing her lips.

She would normally go out to meet him, but she's been sitting too long and she's sorer than usual. So she just sets her book aside, watching her partner come bounding up the path. His eyes are sparkling.

"Hi." Her heart rate is thrumming wildly in her chest, a rapid tattoo that fills her whole body with energy.

"You're looking well," he beams.

"I'm glad you could come."

"Are you kidding? An excuse to get out of the city? I wouldn't miss it." He grins. "I'm assuming you'll be sporting the pigtails and apron tomorrow?"

It's been so long since she laughed with him. _Seen_ him laugh.

She's missed it.

* * *

><p>Her father appears from the kitchen while she and Castle are sitting on the porch. "Rick! Son, great to see you. Thanks for coming out."<p>

"Nice little place you've got here, Jim. Very pretty."

"Very kind, Rick. Now - Katie did warn you about the grizzly bears?"

"Ha. Funny." Castle laughs, but slowly stops when he sees Jim's not laughing with him. "Wait. No. There aren't bears out here. Are there?"

Kate shoots her dad a contrite look. "I forgot to mention it."

"_What?_"

"Well, it's not your fault, son. You didn't know. We'll have to burn your clothes to get rid of the smell."

Castle stares at her dad until Kate can't help but snort. "Castle. Your _face_."

Dad chuckles. "No grizzlies, son. Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Castle huffs. "I'm beginning to think two Becketts are the real danger here."

"Don't worry, Castle." Kate nudges him with her shoulder. "I'll protect you."

* * *

><p>As much as she tries to hide it, Kate's fatigued by the time the sun sets. Castle seems to notice; he makes a production of yawning and explaining to her dad that he's tired from the trip. Dad doesn't say much, but his eyes are sparkling.<p>

He helps her to her room as Castle gets settled on the couch and kisses her goodnight.

"Night, Dad."

"Sleep well, Katie." He grins. "Protective guy, that Rick. He cares about you."

Her face gets warm. "Dad -"

He holds up his hands. "Just saying."

* * *

><p>In her room, Kate lies awake, trying to calm her jittery nerves. It's so quiet at night. Her thoughts seem louder. And now she's lying there thinking about the man sprawled on the couch, about what she thinks he might have said. <em>Castle. How can I ask?<em>

Eventually she drifts off. But sometime in the wee hours, she wakes up in a panic, her breath caught, her chest seizing, her whole body taut and sweaty. Shit. _Shit_.

It doesn't happen every night, but it still happens more than it should.

She squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in through her nose, and talks herself down. _It's okay. It's the cabin. Dad's here. Castle's here. It'll be okay._

Her pulse is starting to slow, her body relaxing, and she's wishing she could just flip a switch and turn these panic attacks _off_ forever, when there's a soft tap at her bedroom door. "Beckett? You awake? You okay?"

Kate swallows hard, scrubbing her face with her hands. "I'm fine, Castle. Sorry if I woke you."

There's a pause. She holds her breath, waiting for the creak of footsteps back towards the living room, the soft _whoosh_ of the cushions as he lies back down.

"Is it okay if I come in?"

She should say no. She probably should. But then again, Dad's right down the hallway. It's not a big cabin.

"Yeah."

The door creaks open slowly and Castle pokes his head in, cautious, like he's afraid she doesn't really mean it. "I'm sorry for intruding."

"You're fine."

He stands there looking kind of uncomfortable, and Kate finally lets out a soft chuckle. "You can sit down, you know."

Of course, there are no chairs - it's a small room - so the only place for him to sit is her bed. He settles cautiously on the edge, facing her, and even as broken and tired and sore as she is, Kate finds herself biting back a crack about _never thought it'd be this hard to get you into my bed, Castle_.

"Are you really okay?"

The question catches her off guard, as much in its tone as in its words. His voice is soft, gentle, and in spite of herself, Kate can feel her throat getting tight. Because he may be asking, but he already knows the answer.

Castle's watching her. He's trying to be subtle, but she knows what he's thinking. He's wondering where this rag doll came from. He's not used to seeing her like this, and even in the darkness, Kate feels uncomfortably exposed.

The moonlight pouring through her window lends a softer glow to the humble room, silvering the unfinished boards and the plain old bedspread. The air between them seems lighter somehow. Thinner. Fainter. Everything is quiet, and in the cool night shadows, it feels like she can say things, ask questions, and somehow it won't count against her.

"Can I - can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

She swallows hard. "When I got shot -" she doesn't miss the flicker of pain that crosses his face - "I remember you. Trying to push me out of the way."

"I wasn't fast enough."

"It's not your fault," she whispers. This is the talk they didn't have in the hospital. She's regretted that tiny, quiet, horribly contained fight since that moment. She pushed him away and she's never, ever been able to figure out why she did it.

She was still smarting from that, a tightness in her sternum that morphine couldn't dull, an hour later when, after a fight she shouldn't have picked, she told Josh to leave and not come back.

"Castle - " she's so tired, so tired it's hard to get the words out - "it's - all kind of a blur. I don't remember much."

He doesn't say anything, but his face is very sober. Her eyes are stinging, her throat tight, and she can't fight it because she's sore and tired and she _missed_ him. So much.

"Did you say something?"

His eyes get wide. "You remember that?"

"I don't know." She takes a slow breath. "I just remember fragments. And - I thought - I thought I heard you say something."

Talking - really _talking_ - is as scary as any bullet. But she _needs_ to know.

"Do you love me?"

His eyes go wide. "Kate?"

"I don't - Castle -" Her chest gets tight. This was a mistake. She shouldn't -

"Yes."

She catches her breath.

"What?"

Castle shrugs. "I love you. You're right. I said it."

Her ears are ringing, and she's oddly, uselessly aware of the dull ache in her chest. Which, till now, she'd thought was just from a bullet.

"I didn't really think it was a surprise, Kate." He gives her a rueful smile. "I'm pretty sure it's the world's worst-kept secret."

Kate can feel her heart rate creeping into a panicked tattoo, her whole body shaking, and she rests her forehead on her knees, counting her breaths like the physical therapist taught her. _One_. _Two_.

(_Kate. I love you._)

She can feel his hand on her back, tracing gentle circles, and at this point he's seen enough to know just what a mess she is, so she just gives up and lets the tears well up in her eyes. This isn't what she wanted. Nothing is what she was hoping.

"Are you okay? Kate?"

Kate takes a long breath through her nose. He loves her. He's _here_.

"I love you."

The words slip out before she realizes it. She feels him freeze, his hand warm on her shoulder. "Kate?"

"Yeah." There's a warmth pouring through her veins, liquid heat spilling into her chest, and this strange, too-quiet night in a tiny room might be the first time she's breathed since spring. His eyes are locked on hers, and even in the darkness, it's mesmerizing.

As prosaic as his admission was, now that _she's_ said it, he looks like he's not far from tears.

She puts her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and it's not really romantic, not poetic, because she's exhausted and sore and sweaty and her face is oily and she doesn't know what she's doing. But his palm curves over her jaw tenderly, and she lets out a breath and then she's kissing him.

It's so tentative, so soft. Almost chaste, just his lips on hers. His hands frame her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. It's too much.

She's still broken and sore and sweaty. But here, like this, if just for the moment, it's not so bad. He's here. And he loves her.

She wants to smile and cry and whatever else she can't think of.

He's strong, broad-shouldered, and she leans into him tiredly, enveloped in an embrace he's trying to keep gentle for her sake. She half-thinks this is a dream.

"Stay."

"But - your dad -"

"_Castle_."

"All right! All right. But you can't let him hurt me."

Castle obligingly curls up beside her in the small bed, letting her settle against him until her ribs are comfortable. Sleeping is still an issue, but she manages to stretch her body out without twisting her sore abdomen.

"Don't worry," she murmurs into his skin. "About Dad. Or grizzly bears."

He presses a soft kiss to the edge of her jaw. "My hero."


	54. 1x05, Chill Goes Through2

On re-watching _A Chill Goes Through Her Veins_ recently, I noticed that in the scene where Beckett goes to Castle's loft, and then next when they go to the crime scene, they're wearing different clothes. So she visited Castle at night; they went to the victim's apartment in the morning.

My brain started humming.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 54: 1x5, A Chill Goes Through Her Veins 2<strong>

_I don't want to pretend._

_Scared you'll like it?_

He has to give Kate Beckett credit; apart from the cocked head and quizzical "Hi?" that sounded more like a question than a greeting, she's remarkably unfazed by the chaos of the Castle household, laser tag and all.

She simply follows him into his study, watching as he extricates himself from his laser tag gear. He watches her looking around curiously, taking in the bookshelves, his beloved skull lamp, the warm, calm atmosphere of this room he spends so much time in. She seems particularly intrigued by his smartboard, poking at it carefully. "Looks a lot like our murder board."

"Yeah, except mine's fake."

She stares at him for a long moment. "Yeah."

"Something wrong?"

"I can't find it."

There's a brittleness to her, a kind of tension he's not seen from this flinty, clever woman. She looks _young_.

"Find what?"

"The answer."

The case. She's here because she's stuck on the case. He tries not to let his excitement show, because she's clearly troubled, but this? - she's willingly coming to him for help?

This is amazing.

They talk through it, and though it helps, they're stuck. _How did the killer get rid of the body_. It's a question he's had to tackle before, multiple times, and wow, it's a lot trickier when he can't just type the words _he dropped the body into the back of his giant windowless van_ or _the apartment was right next to the river so he just dropped the body out the window and no one saw it the end._

He finally gives up. CIA will probably not be the right answer this time, so he's out of ideas. "You know what helps?"

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes, when I'm trying to figure out how a character of mine does something, I'll walk the crime scene. This one time, I was trying to figure out how to throw someone off the Empire State Building, and that movie Sleepless in Seattle had just come out." He grins. "So many lonely women approached me, thinking I was their Tom Hanks. I got laid -"

"Castle."

Oh. Maybe not the time. "Point is, you want to get into the killer's head? Go to where the killer was and see what problems he had to face. Field trip?"

She blinks at him for a moment, and he wonders if he's unwittingly said something stupid.

"That's a good idea. I think it might help."

"So let's go! Right now. I'll get my coat"

She purses her lips, shaking her head briefly. "Castle. It's after ten. Why don't we wait until morning?"

"What? Oh. I guess you're right." So much for his flash of genius.

She shoots him a soft smile. "We'll go tomorrow, okay? First thing."

"Good. Sounds good. This one -" he wonders, fleetingly, if he's overstepping, but isn't that their entire relationship? - "it, uh. It seems to be getting to you."

She looks up sharply, a flicker of shock in her eyes, and he knows he's cut too close. "Sorry. I just -" He doesn't know what to say.

Funny, how much easier it is to just be the local idiot outsider at the precinct.

"No, it's - it's okay."

Her voice is quiet, the edge in it gone. This is a new version of Kate Beckett. He's never seen her like this. That flinty attitude she wears around him, her armor, is gone.

She's vulnerable.

He wonders what it would take for her to let him hug her. Or, well. To call her _Kate_.

"Why'd you come here?"

She shrugs. "I don't know." She gives him a half-smile, without a lot of mirth in it. "Maybe I thought you could help."

Help. He wants to help. He's desperate to be useful. "What can I do?"

She smiles wryly. "Not much, I'm afraid. I guess I didn't really think this through." She sighs, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

"Not at all. I'm glad you came. You know, you're always welcome here. Any time. Really."

Beckett's looking at him with an expression he can't quite read - her eyes are very bright, and there's something in the line of her mouth that gives him pause, tells him to let her lead here.

"You mean that?"

He nods, wordless at first because he's not sure what to say, but then before he can find words, she's suddenly kissing him and he can't breathe.

It's over in a moment, leaving him startled, frozen, with just the phantom warmth of her mouth on his. She looks up at him with those big, rich hazel eyes, and he just can't stop himself. He leans in and kisses her again, long and slow and deliberate. He can feel her eyelashes flutter against his face, the taut energy humming under her skin.

It's too much, too soon, and he steals his hand to her cheek, cupping her cheek gently, before letting her go.

He - just - he -

She looks so _young_, honestly, she looks like a girl and he probably shouldn't care about her this much, this quickly, but he's in over his head. Sometimes he forgets that he's got ten years on her, but he's willing to bet she's got the lion's share of the wisdom in this partnership, too much gleaned from whatever the great tragedy is that's shaped her past.

He wonders if she'll ever tell him what happened.

She's got this hesitant look on her face, like she's afraid he might take advantage of her sudden lapse of self-control, and he needs her to know that he's not that person.

He threads his fingers through hers. Her hands are slim, graceful, softer than he'd expect, and when her thumb traces gently over the back of his hand, his throat gets tight.

Beckett lives alone, doesn't she?

He has this sudden vision of her sitting quietly on a couch, all alone, in a dingy apartment that's probably not _actually_ as dimly lit or sparsely furnished as he's imagining, but his writer's brain is conjuring up some lonesome, dank little cavern or possibly just a leaky grey tent on a rooftop somewhere, and before he can think about it, he blurts out, "You should stay."

Her eyes go wide, and he hurries to explain himself. "I mean. Just - not like that. We could watch a movie. Or play laser tag. Or fence."

Her expression goes from startled to bemused, and it's just so adorable that he really desperately wants to kiss her again. "Fencing?"

"I'm prepared to defend you nobly with my foil," he assured her solemnly. "Or, you know. My laser gun."

"As reassuring as that is, you can keep the weapons holstered," she says, her mouth curving up in the smile that she usually tries to hide.

"Can I at least interest you in a glass of wine? I have very good wine." He just can't stop _talking_, mostly because he's afraid he doesn't know how to hold onto this fragile, delicate moment that started the moment she kissed him. "And I have Batman wineglasses. Alexis got them for me a year ago. You can even use the Batman one. I'll use the Robin one."

Her eyes are dancing. Wow. _Smooth, Rick_. "What a sacrifice, Castle."

"It seems only fitting."

He wants to say something else, because based on the past three minutes, kissing seems to be a thing they do now and he'd like it to stay that way, but soft, vulnerable Kate Beckett is all kinds of mind-blowing and he feels stupider than usual.

"All right." She accepts defeat. "One glass."

"I promise you'll enjoy it."

He ushers her back out towards the kitchen, musing over the chance he might get to kiss her again. She stops and glances back at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You're not as much of an asshole as you pretend to be, are you?"

"I'm hoping that can stay between us."

She grins at that, her nose wrinkling in the most adorable way possible, and she leans in for a brief kiss that makes his chest ache and his breath catch in his throat.

"Your secret's safe with me."


	55. 3x09, Close Encounters

I kind of...blatantly stole this idea from "All The Queen's Horses," one of my absolute favorite episodes of _Due South_. If you haven't watched _Due South_, please give it a try. It's on youtube. I just...I just. You think Nathan Fillion is handsome? You need to see Paul Gross as Constable Fraser.

Anyway.

For the sake of this fic, when they got zapped by Agent Lyle Lovett or Agent K or whomever, Beckett had her hair pinned back, not down loose.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 55: Close Encounters of the Murderous Kind, 3x9<strong>

_I _wish_ it was a hickey._

Clark grouses, swearing under his breath as he fumbles with the unconscious detective's handcuffs. This would be so much easier if he'd done it _before_ putting the two of them back into the car. The woman's very slim, but this guy is heavy. Damn. _Buddy. You're killing me here._

Finally satisfied with his work, he leans back and permits himself a grin. Agent Westfield instructed him to put them back in the car. He didn't elaborate beyond that. And Clark has an unusually well-developed sense of humor for a CIA agent. So he decided to amuse himself.

He half-wishes he could stay and watch them wake up, but his phone's already buzzing. He pulls it out of his pocket. "This is Clark."

"You done?"

"Just about. Back in twenty."

He finishes his work. Not like Westfield will know, and even if he did, this isn't a real infraction. Besides. He's being responsible. He's just...being kind of a dick, which is not specifically off-limits. Neither of the unconscious figures here is wearing a wedding ring. And this woman is hot. Like, insanely hot. No way this guy hasn't thought about it.

He pats the big guy on the shoulder. "You're welcome, buddy."

* * *

><p>Kate's first impression is warmth. Warmth, comfort. She's groggy but relaxed. Her limbs are tingling slightly, an odd taste in the back of her mouth.<p>

Something's wrong.

She finally opens her heavy eyes to find exactly what's wrong: she's in Richard Castle's arms.

Her whole body tenses up as she sees his eyes slowly focusing on her, falling to her mouth. He looks as dazed as she feels, his face slack and unguarded, and as his breath warms her skin, Kate knows this is bad.

She instinctively tries to pull away but it doesn't work; she looks down to find their arms wrapped around each other, secured with handcuffs (they must have gotten hers, but did they use a second set?). Trapped. She and Castle are trapped together.

"Can you move?" he breathes into her, and she swallows, because she needs him not to do that. Really.

"No. You?"

"Nope. Handcuffs." She feels him tug his arms around her experimentally, probably meant to show her he's trying, but the flex of his muscles against her body is doing all kinds of things to her that it shouldn't.

In the dim light from the starry sky, here in their own private little prison, Kate has no idea what to do. She doesn't know where her phone is, or even if it'll work. No one is looking out here for them.

Castle shifts a little, accidentally pulling her closer against his broad chest, and she bites her lip. "Any ideas?"

"Not yet." She grits her teeth. _Handcuffed to Richard Castle_ is not high on the list of situations she ever planned to be in.

"Actually." He pauses, looking her over, and in spite of herself, Kate feels her face get hot. She officially hates whatever CIA or FBI or MIB jackass who did this. "I have an idea. It's kind of dumb." He opens his mouth, shuts it, and seems to consider for a moment. "Can you pick a lock?"

"Maybe. If I had a kit."

"What about a bobby pin?"

"Um." She sees where he's going with this. "Maybe."

"Can't hurt to try, right?"

"Right. Okay."

He reaches for the pin in her hair, but winces. "Damn it." He tries again, but she can feel his arm catching, short of his goal. "I can't reach it. Can't bend that far."

"Any other ideas?"

Castle fixes her with a keen gaze, and it's a moment before Kate realizes: there's another option.

"You could use your mouth."

She feels the sudden tension that runs through his body, and even in the half-shadow, there's no mistaking the dark flash of his eyes, the way his body cants into hers, before he realizes what she really means. He swallows, and she watches, mesmerized, as his throat bobs.

This is a bad idea.

"Right. Good thinking."

He takes a breath and goes for her bobby pin, pulling her closer, and she's crushed against him, breathing in the scent of his cologne, her face pressed into his neck. Kate shuts her eyes, willing herself not to react, trying to keep herself calm. He'll get the bobby pin, they'll get out of these handcuffs and away from this godforsaken stretch of highway, and this will all be over.

And Ryan and Esposito will never know it happened.

"Ha!"

Castle huffs triumphantly as she feels a lock of her hair fall loose against her cheek. Great. Step one.

He sits back, her bobby pin tucked between his teeth, hesitation in his eyes. Heat floods her cheeks again, because she's just gotten to the same problem: _she's_ the one who can use the pin. Which means she needs to get it in her hands. She can't reach his mouth with her hands.

She can reach his mouth with her mouth, though.

He leans forward, the question in his eyes, and she lets out a breath. May as well get this over with.

Kate leans into him, turning her head, and in any other situation, this is a kiss, this is everything she thinks about doing but doesn't, because she has self-control. She just needs to get the bobby pin. That's all.

But the brush of his mouth on hers sends a shock through her, and in spite of herself, she flinches, her teeth closing around his lower lip (oh _God_). She feels the sharp breath he takes in, even as the bobby pin slips free from their mouths and drops down the front of her shirt.

_Shit_.

Castle freezes, meeting her eyes with a mortified expression. The silence ticks by, uncomfortable, heated, but she knows there's no other way for him to get it.

"Get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Just do it."

He goes for her chest, and she'd really had good intentions about staying objective and professional and something to that effect, but then his mouth is on her chest, right at the top of her shirt, and she realizes that this is a terrible, terrible idea.

She can feel the shirt give way as the button slips out of the buttonhole. Castle's face is pressed against her chest, his stubble rasping against her skin. She shuts her eyes, willing away the unbearable heat that's burning through her blood. So wrong. Stupid.

His teeth scrape at her skin, pinching just above the lacy edge of her bra, and even shutting her eyes was a mistake, because this feels identical to the kind of sexual encounter he spent the entire first year of their partnership trying to goad her into. He's undoing her shirt. With his teeth. Nipping at her breast.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and she means to say _It's okay_ but her voice isn't working, because her whole body is tight and she needs to stop imagining things, right -

_Knock knock knock_

Kate freezes, momentarily blinded. Were the CIA agents back again?

"All right, you two. Cut it out in there."

A state trooper is peering in through the car windows, shining a flashlight in their eyes; Kate recognizes the shape of his hat.

Oh. Right. He thinks he just walked up on -

_Oh._

"Officer - Officer, I'm Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. We were detained by - by someone, and we're stuck. Can you please help?"

The guy clearly has a hard time believing a word - Kate can't blame him - but eventually helps them free, sees her badge, and obligingly helps her start up the car again.

"You two stay alert, all right? I'd hate to see you stuck again."

Kate smiles faintly, watching him trot back to his car, and tucks her hair behind her ear. Well. That was a nightmare.

"Um, Beckett?"

_Stop talking_. "What?"

"You might want to button up your shirt."

She fumbles to fix it, her face burning, and for the thousandth time, she wonders why she lets Castle join her on road trips. Ever.

* * *

><p>Montgomery is suitably incensed over the entire incident - the part Kate tells him about, not the solution she and Castle attempted. His reaction settles her a bit. At least the kind-hearted state trooper didn't mention the part where he thought he was walking up on grabby, shameless car sex.<p>

The mark on her neck still stings a bit, though the drugs are out of her system, and of course that's what Espo focuses on. "Hmm. Abducted by government agents, huh?" He peers at the red spot of Castle's neck. "Come on. What were you two really doing?"

She settles on a suitably disdainful look before responding as calmly as she can. "It's not a hickey, Esposito."

"You both have one."

And of course Castle opens his stupid mouth. "I _wish_ it was a hickey." Kate stares at him. _Stop. Talking._ "It's from the injectors."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

She's had enough of this, because she's morbidly afraid Castle's going to slip and mention just how much his mouth was all over her in their attempt to get out, so she does her level best to steer the conversation back the right direction. The case. The actual reason for all of this.

Ryan appears. She assumes Kevin Ryan, stalwart, faithful detective, will maintain the gravity of their investigation.

He squints. "Those hickeys?"

"Yes."

"No."

"I wish."

Ryan shrugs. "Okay."

It wasn't a kiss. They're not hickeys.

None of this is her fault.

* * *

><p>That night, as she undresses, Kate finds the bobby pin, stuck inside her bra.<p>

And a little purple mark on the swell of her breast, where Castle accidentally bit her.


	56. 1x03, Hedge Fund Homeboys 2

Set mid-episode, starting with the scene in which Beckett interrogates Scoville, the drug dealer.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 56: 1x3, Hedge Fund Homeboys<strong>

_[silent yelping]_

"_Next time, put it on speaker phone._"

Castle is transfixed.

There's a cadence to the way she speaks. It's relaxed, at ease, with a biting, clipped edge of wit. She's almost lazily trapping this idiot in his own words.

It's the most bizarrely attractive thing he's ever witnessed, and he's not sure why.

This is what sets her apart, isn't it? Other women defer to him as the witty one, the clever one. The man with the words and the brain to put them together. But Kate Beckett doesn't flinch; she uses his own medium without hesitation, by turns teasing and serious, until he's captivated. And watching her turn it on someone else is equally captivating.

He snaps out of his train of thought - it was largely centered around her mouth - when she leans into the observation room, doing a quick double-take when she sees him standing there next to the captain. "Ah. Sir. You heard everything?"

"I did. Nice work." Montgomery nods. "I'll go check in with Ryan and Esposito. Well done, Detective."

He ducks out, leaving Castle and Beckett looking at each other. She's clearly not sure what to make of him. "You watched, too?"

"Yeah. It was awesome."

She huffs a sarcastic laugh, but too late, realizes he's not pretending. "Really? Just - a normal interrogation?"

"Seriously. That was amazing. It was like you weren't even trying. You got him to - to wrap himself up and put a bow on himself. That was so, so cool."

She quirks an eyebrow up, and he probably shouldn't find it hot, because it's adorable, but somehow it's still incredibly hot. "Um. Thanks?"

"I'm not trying to be ironic. That was the coolest interrogation I've ever watched."

She has that suspicious look on her face, the adorable one that he's come to really enjoy. But it looks like she's actually believing - and it's true - that he was very, very impressed with just how well she does her job. "Well. Glad I could help."

"I have a lot more questions about interrogation."

"I'll bet you do."

"Can I take you to dinner? I can take notes, and you can tell me about all the stupid criminals you've taken down with your brains."

"Sure." The skeptical look is back. "Because that's what you're interested in. A detective using her brain, not trying to trick someone by taking off her clothes, right?"

"Honestly? That didn't even occur to me." As transparent as he's been before this, he really did just spend fifteen minutes mesmerized by the allure of a brilliant, gorgeous woman in a plain shirt and sensible slacks, using nothing but wit to snare today's brand of criminal.

Beckett's now sporting an exasperated expression, and he crosses his fingers that it's annoyance at her inability to find a reason to turn him down. He's not averse to _he just wouldn't go away_ being the story she'll tell their children in twenty years.

"A working dinner?"

He nods.

"All right."

"Great." He pauses. She probably doesn't want to be wooed at some elegant restaurant. Especially at this thinly-veiled-as-work dinner that he probably shouldn't be as excited about as he is. "Um. Where do you want to go?"

* * *

><p>She takes him to the kind of place he doesn't go nearly often enough. Remy's is a quirky little place. He likes it immediately. The walls are lined with vintage travel posters, fun, retro paintings of Spain and France and Italy and San Juan and Honolulu, and the tables are warm polished wood, scuffed and scarred from use.<p>

Beckett seems to recognize the waitress who comes to take their order, a smiling, worn, petite woman with a tidy knot of greying hair and a button on her apron that proudly announces _I love my corgi!_ "Hi, Brenda. How have you been?"

"Livin' the dream, hon. As always." Brenda nods at Castle. "You brought a friend?"

"This is Rick. He's working with the precinct."

Rick flashes Brenda a smile, shaking her hand warmly. "Nice to meet you, Brenda."

"Likewise, sweetie. Welcome to Remy's. You two want a few minutes to look over the menu?"

They do, so she smiles, sets down water glasses, and leaves them to their perusal. "The burgers are really good," Beckett informs him distractedly, eyeing the plastic-covered page. "And the shakes. The shakes are amazing."

She leans on her slim elbows, wrinkling her nose as she reads, and Castle actually can't even handle how beautiful she is when she's not even trying.

He takes her advice and orders a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake. She's always right. He's willing to bet this is no exception.

"So, Castle." She takes a long sip of her water, and he tries to stop looking at her mouth. "Let's hear these penetrating, analytical questions about the art of interrogation."

He is absolutely not going to let the word _penetrating_, in that teasing, throaty purr, derail his train of th-

Too late.

"Uh. Right." Oh. He jotted down some notes. Right. He fumbles for his notebook, flipping to the page he'd scribbled on earlier. "Okay. So - when you're talking to someone, and you know they have information but you need them to come out and say it -" he pauses, not sure how to finish his question. "I'm not sure exactly how to say this."

"You want to know how I approach it?"

"More or less, yeah."

She sits back, twisting her straw wrapper between her fingers. "Well, it's a game. It's a question of how I can get a person to decide it's more in his interest to tell me something than it is to hide it. You were watching today, so you saw that - Scoville started out thinking he could just deny everything, walk away. I had to convince him I knew enough to nail him on drug charges, so he would tell me what I needed to know."

"You kept winding him up, though." Rick sets his chin on his hand, fascinated. "You almost left the room."

She shrugs. "It's a question of whether or not he calls my bluff. Today, he didn't. I didn't care about him. But every time he talked, he gave me something. It's all information. I just - have to steer him the way I want him to go."

"You let him tell you things you already knew."

She nods. "Knowing it isn't enough. I have to make sure it's laid out properly for the prosecution. It's about the big picture."

"Hold that thought."

Castle pulls out a pen and starts jotting down cool phrases like _It's about the big picture_ and _It's a question of whether or not he calls my bluff. Today, he didn't._ "You know, people say I have a knack for storytelling, but I'm telling you, you've got a natural gift for this."

She rolls her eyes, but he can see a flush staining her cheeks pink. Ah. She wasn't expecting that.

The moment is broken as Brenda arrives with their food, and as much fun as he's having with this softer version of Beckett who smiles and laughs and doesn't threaten to pull his nose off his face, Castle finds himself floored by the food.

"You weren't kidding. This might be the best burger ever."

She hums in amusement, absorbed in her own burger and strawberry shake. She's even adorable when she eats, deliberate as she is all the time, focused on her food, occasionally slurping at her shake.

This isn't the kind of date he'd meant to take her on when they first met. His first twenty-four hours' exposure to Kate Beckett had fostered a lot of ideas of French wines and skimpy dresses and limos and invitations back to her place for coffee that absolutely did not end up including coffee.

So far, he's enjoying this a lot more.

* * *

><p>He pays the check and leaves Brenda a generous tip, and insists on holding Beckett's coat for her. "It's gentlemanly."<p>

"It's unnecessary."

"I go the extra mile, Detective."

It earns him another, more strenuous eye roll, but he can tell she's enjoying herself. She can't stop smiling. And in spite of her complaints, she lets him help her on with her jacket.

She drives them to his place, pulling the cruiser neatly to the curb, shifting into park. "Did you get all your questions answered?"

_Not even close._

"Yeah. Thank you."

"Thank you for dinner." Her voice is softer than he's used to, nothing like the brisk, efficient tone of Detective Beckett, and is that - is she tucking her hair behind her ear? That's not a Detective Beckett gesture.

It's girlish. It's cute.

"Are you going to walk me to my door?"

"Do you often have trouble finding it?"

He fixes her with the best pout he can muster, and is delighted when she sighs, unclips her seat belt, hops out of the driver's seat, crosses to his side, and opens his door. "There you go, Princess."

"Much obliged."

He's standing with her on the sidewalk, and maybe this is the one part of his fantasy date with her that's accurate. Because she's _still_ smiling, and her eyes are bright, and after chatting over burgers at the least romantic (yet somehow, the best) restaurant he can imagine, he's a little bit certain that this was a really good date.

"I had a really nice time," he says, and it's nothing but sincere.

She bites her lip, and he can't stop staring at her mouth. Again.

"So did I."

He decides to go the true, classy route, since she enjoyed it so much the first time he kissed her on the cheek. So he leans in, one hand to the edge of her jaw, but he's utterly unprepared when she turns her head at the last moment and kisses him on the lips.

It's a slow, gentle kiss, soft and lingering, and it's one more facet of this remarkable young woman, a side of her he's never seen. She never ceases to surprise him. She challenges him.

When the kiss ends and she steps back, looking up at him almost shyly through a fringe of dark lashes, it takes him a second to find his voice.

"Does this mean I can call you Kate?"

That makes her laugh, her tongue between her teeth, and it takes all his self-control to stop from kissing her again. And then one more time. Or four.

"We'll talk."

She leaves with a long glance before she pulls back into traffic, leaving Castle standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, with the unshakable sense that he's in way over his head.


	57. 2x01, Deep In Death 2

a/n: Inspired by a conversation with Polly Lynn about my issues - I mean, Beckett's issues, obviously - regarding Nathan Fillion wearing this.

Except they might be my issues.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 57: 2x1, Deep In Death<strong>

_Don't worry, we're still mad at him._

Kate's having a good morning. She wakes up less tired than usual, gets in a good long run, and most surprising of all, her hair decides to cooperate.

It's been a nightmare recently. Objectively, she'd known that growing her hair long again would result in an awkward phase. And there are days she seriously considers just chopping it short again, back to the simplicity of her old pageboy cut. But she's ready for a change. She needs a fresh start. Something new.

And she's told herself, more than once, that it has nothing to do with _him_.

"Beckett? A word?"

She's had all of five minutes at her desk when Montgomery leans out of his office.

"Sir?"

He obligingly waits for her to take a seat before continuing. "Have you heard from Castle recently?"

The name makes her flinch. She's gotten particularly good at avoiding that name in the past few months.

"No."

She deleted the voicemails without listening to them. But Montgomery doesn't seem to catch the lie.

"Interesting."

Her heart sinks. "What is it?"

"I'd assumed you knew - he's coming in today. _Cosmo_'s doing an article on him and his ride-along work, and they're doing a photo shoot, here at the precinct."

Her stomach churns, the coffee she drank earlier suddenly souring in her mouth, and she can't quite come up with words.

"You okay?" Montgomery asks, his face suddenly concerned. Clearly he hadn't realized how hard she's been working at getting past this man.

"Fine, sir."

Kate wonders, too late, if maybe she should stop hiding things.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Kate turns to see the uniforms leading in a pair of photographers with multiple camera bags and press badges around their necks.<p>

She'd toyed with the idea of bailing, either finding busy work to take her to One Police Plaza or maybe seeing if she can work with the patrols today. But the thought of hiding from Rick Castle in her own space sets her teeth on edge. _He_ is wrong. He's the one who ended whatever they had.

She has no reason to run off. This is her world, not his.

"Yo, Beckett." Esposito leans back in his chair. "Did you know about this?"

"Nope."

He exchanges a glance with Ryan. "I know the captain said the mayor gave this the okay, but - if you want, we could find an excuse for you to head over to archives for today."

She can't help but smile. Her loyal, adorable little brothers. "Thanks, guys. But it's fine."

"We could take him out back," Ryan offers helpfully. "Rough him up."

"Not necessary," she assures him. "But it's the thought that counts."

* * *

><p>Of course Richard Castle can't just walk into the precinct like a normal human.<p>

His grand entrance is a spectacle, complete with a small horde of chattering handlers from the magazine. The floor goes from tranquil to hectic in a moment, the air buzzing with loud talkers and equipment humming and camera flashes.

Kate's at her desk when he appears. She hears his voice before she sees him.

He strolls out of the elevator like he owns it, chatting easily with one of the reporters beside him. He's suave, charming, his hair perfectly combed. He looks good. He looks really, really good. He's had a good summer.

Everything rises up in her throat like bile. It's a heady mix of cold anger, a block of ice that hurts her chest, and the hot, liquid flare pouring through her veins, a heat that's filled her body since the first time she saw him.

She can feel the flush on her face, but she does nothing, just watches. She sees Castle unconsciously stand up straighter. His eyes immediately dart to her desk, and for just a second, she can almost forget everything else, because the quick, easy warmth of his gaze meeting hers feels like the most natural thing in the world.

_It's about your mother_.

She clenches her jaw and looks away, as deliberately as she can. They were always about subtext, weren't they?

_You're not welcome here, Castle._

* * *

><p>She hates him - she really, really does - and then it gets worse. Infinitely worse.<p>

Kate modeled in high school; she knows how photo shoots work. She's not surprised to see makeup artists fussing away, and the one harried, stressed-looking intern whose entire job seems to be getting barked at while adjusting clothing.

Castle appears from the men's room, and Kate swallows hard.

She hates the suit. It's almost him, but it's not quite right. It's too flashy, the pinstripes too ostentatious, and it's close but it's just wrong and she hates it. It's what Rick Castle looks like to the outside world, sharp and expensive and loud and too much.

Then two strippers making a feeble attempt at being cops saunter in, and Ryan and Esposito instantly seem to warm to the situation. Great.

The director has the stripper-cops drape themselves over Castle, who looks like he's enjoying this far too much. It's only then that she sees it: under his jacket, he's wearing a shoulder holster.

He keeps easing his jacket back, flashing the leather straps, and it's just so stupid. It's stupid, and there is no earthly reason she should find it attractive. There's nothing about a leather holster with a fake gun that should make her face get hot and her hands sweat and give her endless ideas about creative things she can do to him that involve unbuttoning and unbuckling and tugging and leaving that holster on him.

Prickles of heat are burning her skin, her heart pounding against her ribcage, and when the intern carefully unbuttons another of Castle's buttons and tugs his shirt open, Kate realizes she's actually, officially in hell.

She's sitting at her desk, biting her lip and trying desperately to ignore everything, and then she hears Castle one of the strippers ask Castle if she can get his autograph after this.

"Sure," he tells her. "Where would you like it?"

Kate stands up and walks away, her ears ringing.

* * *

><p>She slips into the emergency stairwell because no one uses these stairs. It's quiet but for the hum of the lights, and for the first time since this morning, she shuts her eyes and takes in a long, slow breath. She just needs a moment to collect herself and -<p>

Her blood pressure skyrockets as the door opens. She knows who it is. No one else spends so much time and effort chasing her when she doesn't want to be found.

"Beckett?"

She makes the mistake of opening her eyes. The door shuts behind Castle, who's staring at her earnestly. His hair is gleaming under the light, his eyes bright, and the straps of that _stupid_ holster are peeking out from the jacket she hates, the leather framing his broad chest, running up to the strong line of his shoulders. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone. He has the faint sheen of lipgloss on his cheek.

She'd had words, but they're gone. Her whole body is burning.

"Beckett? I just - wanted -"

He needs to stop talking.

"Shut up. Just shut up."

She doesn't wait for him to respond; she shoves him back against the wall and kisses him hard, punishing, angry, and a little biting.

He doesn't give her a chance to think about what she's doing before he reacts, sliding his hands over her hips, kissing her back. He turns her around and her back hits the wall as his tongue slips into her mouth. Kate gasps, her body tightening, her hands sliding under his lapels to push the jacket she hates off his shoulders. It hits the floor and he lets out a huff, but she doesn't care, because he's finally not _talking_ and then she nips at his lower lip and a deep groan rumbles through his chest. His hips rock into hers, pinning her between the wall and the hard planes of his body, and she can feel the heat of him against her.

His knee slips between hers and she shivers at the sudden pressure right where she needs it, sparks lighting up her skin. She feels deliciously weak, her body quivering with the inevitable, and it's -

He pulls away suddenly, and it takes her a moment to realize they're not kissing anymore. She tries to suck in a breath.

"Beckett." He swallows hard. "Kate."

She freezes, and he must take it as acquiescence, because he leans forward, slower this time, and softly presses his lips to hers.

He's kissing her too gently, and she can't handle this, of all things. _This_ is wrong.

This is worse than anything else.

Kate pushes him away with shaky hands, wiping her mouth. She needs to breathe. She needs to get away from him.

She searches blindly for the door handle, slipping out of the stairwell, ignoring his voice behind her.

* * *

><p>Rick stares blankly at the window of the break room.<p>

He's been standing here for several minutes. He'd thought about making coffee, but that takes brain power he doesn't have available at the moment. His brain is still in the back stairwell.

He lets out a short breath. None of this makes sense. She freezes him out, then when he decides to try his luck, everything goes haywire. He was going to ask her to dinner. But then he couldn't, because her tongue was in his mouth.

And then she bolted, leaving him more than a little worked up.

But _damn_. She's - just so -

Esposito leans in. "Castle, you got a second?"

He's not entirely sure this is a good idea. Esposito is looking at him with an expression that might charitably be described as pissed.

"Um - I guess."

Esposito shuts the door firmly behind him and stands there, his arms folded over his chest. Rick gets the distinct impression he needs to start apologizing.

"So what is it?"

"What do you -_ oof_."

Esposito shoves him back against the wall. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you? I never should have let you look at that file."

"I didn't mean to -"

"It ruined her life, man. You have no idea what that did to her. She told you to leave. But now you think you can just parade back in with this stupid show?"

Castle stares at Esposito, who still looks about three seconds away from giving him a bloody nose that the makeup artists will grumble about.

"It's just a business thing."

"Do you know how long it took her to even tell Ryan and me about her mom?"

Castle blinks.

Shit.

"You took the one thing that hurts her more than anything, and you used it. And I don't even think you understand how much you hurt her."

"I didn't mean to."

"You think that makes it okay?"

His stomach is starting to twist, a dull, leaden ache. He feels sick.

"Does she hate me?"

"Do you deserve anything else?"

Krystyn pokes her head in the door, looking as frazzled as usual. She doesn't bat an eye at Esposito's aggressive stance. She's an intern, so she's probably used to worse. "Mr. Castle? Five minutes."

She ducks out and Castle exhales shakily. "I don't know how to fix it."

"'Fix it?' Seriously?" Esposito shakes his head. "You screwed up, Castle. Why can't you just admit you were wrong?"

He stalks out, leaving Castle to stare blankly at the window again.

* * *

><p>Krystyn looks a little panicked when he tells her he needs another ten minutes, but she just nods and scurries off to relay that to the staff.<p>

Kate's at her desk. Her face is perfectly calm, even as her eyes flick up to him, but he can sense the tension under her skin. _Leave me alone_ is written clearly on her face.

He doesn't know how to do this. This is her desk, her territory. She's using the public space as a shield; she knows he won't do anything in front of an audience.

Maybe she knows _she_ won't, either.

His chair is still there beside her desk, and stupidly, his throat gets tight.

The silence stretches beyond acceptable into uncomfortable, and he realizes she's just going to let him stand here.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

That gets her attention. For the first time all day, she looks up at him and he knows she's actually listening.

"What I did was wrong. I violated your trust, I opened old wounds, and I did not respect your wishes." He swallows hard. "And - and I shouldn't have tried to take advantage of - whatever this is between us."

Her lips part, like she's about to say something, but he can't stop now. It's all come flooding out.

"And if we're not going to see each other again, you deserve to know - I'm very, very sorry."

The thick, leaden weight in his chest dissolves, bitter and clean, and it still hurts but he knows he's finally done something right.

She says nothing, doesn't move, doesn't even blink. And he realizes _if we're not going to see each other_ might be real.

He never wanted that.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and slowly walks away, back towards the photo shoot, where he probably belongs.

"Castle."

His heart leaps in his chest, and he turns back to her desk to find her twisting her hands.

"See you tomorrow."


End file.
